at first one feels that this disturbance is killing all the
the animate things
alive in this small community
singing out of tune, again, but no one really has the temerity
to make him stop, for he is at the height of recreating himself
recomposing
from an old form of sadness, we all understand his art of
reverberating what destroys him and now
he sings
that is the most important thing, look they say, do you hear him singing?
loving neighbors, oh, how happy their hands are, clapping clasping
for another broken heart has healed itself
after days and days of bleeding
profusely
i am listening, and deep within my own feelings of woe
woe relating to woe,
there is this light though dim,
yet it appears so bright
to the incalculable depth of the
heart
and too pleasing to the heart is the sound of a broken song,
the soul of the out of tune, we always say
welcome, welcome, we're with you, in all these.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem