there is always a longing upon the mouth of an empty bowl
the one that you place beside the house that gapes its gaze towards the sun
when it rains you hope that this longing may be sealed by cold water
dropp by dropp throughout the whole night when the world is not seeing
anything, any ripple in your river
body,
no water can fill it, no rain can boast about its power
to level things with its pouring
there is one thing though that you wish to happen
that a child with a stone hits the body of the bowl so that it can be
broken into pieces
that finds no semblance from anything whatsoever
that it can be beyond repair
so that the longing shall be taken away by the pieces
now with its shattered voice
into the void.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem