this afternoon
i like the way the wind blows the leaves of
the ipil-ipil tree
the way they shower your hair
with its tiny leaves
the way you do not mind at all
as your sorrow shows
how sorrow becomes transformed
in this view
one beautiful shower of blessings
from the sky
we do not have to fathom it
like some kind of philosophy
with wind as metaphor
we are diffused and yet so strong
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem