loved the green valleys,
the flowers
the white sculptures amongs themselves listning to music,
beholding the vission of the goddess
t delecately touching the clean waterfalls
opening our eyes to the empty quarter
canovas white marble sculptures, stashed away in a museum
the museum
eternal art, like the guernica
please no more guernicas, from the botom of my heart, from the bottom of my soul,
wherever that is, we hope its shelleys garden,
where the vane narcisus, grows annd the sicofant goes
but we polish our black boots
spontaneously, like vapour
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem