How can I begin anything new?
When yesterday burns deep within me
My eyes have become accustomed to the habitual.
They have armoured themselves against wonder
I've traced the holy word in the dusty book
And I've salvaged the light from the dying sun,
But beauty does not stimulate me these days
And it rarely flashes its flowers my way.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem