In this
wounded
denuded
valley, 
can you discern a spring
with a harbinger sprout through the rocks? 
Can you (?) 
The breathless river is waiting
for the virgin Mama's lap.
With dewy eyes
doves are on their precarious perches.
Who will bring a pleasant draught
for my query? 
Who will declare? 
Ah! I descry a tinge of cloud in the distant sky.                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem