something that cannot be
said is
well contained
too visible
as obvious as grass spread
on the plains
as shining as the sun on
the top of the hill
why do you ask about something
that you have already seen
and even touched?
what are you?
are you a redundant phrase?
in times like these
the stare is the star of our show
feasting eyes
on the surfaces of the skin
on silent arms
we rest our restlessness
in here no preachers are allowed
only
spectators with discriminating
tastes
only those who are willing
to die
and redeem themselves
with
a raw smile
sly and
yet so full of the radiance of
that
first awe....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem