chastise the pleochroism of these crystalline forms?
....have those neighbors who've sworn there is to be no truce.....ever,
extend their freckled hands to one another,
albeit over the colorless, sliver-sprouting pickets?
....condemn the striations of cornel for their obdurate and subtle brilliance?
these things, these beings
shall be themselves...
are just that....
self-determined,
be it by nature
or by influences, deeply imbedded,
born of sources that are
both glaringly alive and long-forgotten....worn as seething badges...
some named...
some seeking no names, wishing no terms of definition....
there is the game...the pieces fit....
you have your keys and your berimbau.....
I have my terraces and my wild harp....
there is harmony in all of this....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem