They that know how to destroy
surprisingly, i must confess, as
i have seen,
are those that do not really
want to create
are those that do not know
how to begin anew
those that do not know the first
cry for life
they that roam the world without
purpose
they cut and when you ask them
to connect
they run and away like mad dogs
on the loose
carrying sharp knives
cutting branches again of trees
not understanding what roots
are
what leaves.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem