on a hammock mid noon
you watch a bird's feather fall from the tree
where a nest just let go
two birds,
takes time to land
and you concentrate on the falling
until softly
it lands on a gray rock just beside
the house
sometime
you thinks about sometimes
that light feeling of not being you
you don't know what is it
it sinks in your mind like
a word that you cannot forget
because it is so easy
and yet you misspell it
it is an error of flight
and grossly an error of a bad landing
you close your eyes against the light
and what you see is
as expected
all red
you imagine sunset at mid noon
you imagine the end of life
at the midst of vibrant feeling
what a waste! how times passed so fast...
how many more are like you
daydreaming on a hammock
dreaming about the feather softly landing on the rock portion
of your soul
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem