The poet dreams
As he makes his way
Through streets paved
With the screams of children.
If you be struck blind,
I would be your eyes;
If struck dumb, I would
Make your voice manifest.
How can you be so bright,
And so consumed with darkness?
All I ask of you is please:
Stop raining on my people.
The poet dreams,
But makes no progress.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I really love this.