Turn hatred into a rosebush in the garden of your silence.
Receive as offerings the arrows that shoot you.
Clean the dark adherences carried by each word:
When passing from mind to mind they cease to be
Translucent coffers and become opaque moons.
In mute lands grows the golden flower.
Translated by Tom Billsborough
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem