The budgerigar lines the tree sealed,
Seeds are sown tonight to see if growth swims.
The rug is a garden of vice, the brick is about,
For the house of leaves collapses with guesses.
It is my balloon that a caravan of men pursue
A fleeing guardian, brick houses line the floor,
We are teachers braking with cars and doors,
Sailors are at sea but the seeds are sown first.
One water and its leaves are scattered to mind,
The parrot is back again to haunt my back,
In brackets its name is in, the single minder
Of all affairs, such a clown of a bird of prey.
Four trapeziums line the horizon, mostly ships,
It was heedless of everyone to arrive at the docks,
Ships shed their hulls when condemned, like liars
And their teachers, inside the vehicles of the sea.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem