And the sky bright blue, 
white clouds paint  the empty spaces
 where the thick wall, delimited 
 the transition overhead of the fig trees.
 Palms begging the white Colour
 And all, too quiet, 
 the breeze savours the summer heat.
 I spent sleepless nights, 
refreshes skin sweat heavily
wetting  between the sheets 
that were complaining. 
And every morning, at sunrise, 
 spectacular as a Carriage,  the horizon is approaching
 carrying the heat pain.                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
 
                    