the room is dark
light passes through a slit
of an old dilapidated wall
it is like a visitor that
comes uninvited but
i do not make any qualms
this house seems to make
a decision of its own
what to allow and what to
block
somehow thinking starts
here like a burning bush
where i, as prophet, takes
off my sandals of dust
when i close my eyes
just like the way you once
showed love to me
deep in the darkness of
our hearts
i see another world
uphill we climb the silence
and then at the top we finally
find ourselves looking
at different directions
and i do not make any qualms
at all
for like the old house this
new world too makes a decision
of its own
what to grow and what
to cut
what to throw away
and what to keep forever
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem