A dirtfloored African church..
holes in the roof, rickety furniture,
paint peeling off the walls..
so filled with Spirit one
loses awareness of its surroundings
as when a plain woman becomes
translucent with flowng love
or as when an area is so flooded with
sunlight
nothing else can be seen
===========
(The warwhore shockjocks on War Radio have
been ridiculing Obama's grandmother's home
with its dirt floor. One does not have to support
Obama's promotion of war in Afghanistan
to be offended)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice poem, Anna, good sentiments. Best wishes,