after dinner my wife leaves
to pray inside our room
you have no plan leaving
the night is deep and dark
outside we sit on the grass
and you are trying to cope up
with softness looking for
some tiny stars above us
you talk i have always prepared
myself to listen to your stories
and your poems
always sad and dedicated to
those who are dying but still
wanting to breathe
you sigh you talk about a name
he is your son and your minds
are two poles apart
you want to touch him like
a very dear friend
but he already lives in another
world in a mind he calls his own
at such a very young age
you remember a big river
meeting this big rock in the middle
they parted ways like
a paper that you cut and crumple
you have more to reveal
but my wife has switched off the light
in her room and you understand
this place is not yours to shed your tears
now you must go and find
your son again his heart his mind....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem