My hands are tired of holding on to words
I want to go beyond the words
beyond mere comprehension
I wear myself out with talking, with argument,
with words.
Perhaps Death will put an end to words
but then again maybe not
perhaps the angels will wake me with their whispers
and their secrets
perhaps God will be waiting
to pour his words into my mouth
until I overflow-
Perhaps God is just another old man
who talks too much.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem