Wind which started as a whisper,
Moves to maelstrom,
Cats cacophany,
And terrific torrents,
Dustbins roll down the street,
And babies cry.
I cling to the radio signal,
Dispensing solace and carols,
A light in a darkened room,
Someone else is at work,
Passing the small hours,
Writing in Cocoa.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem