Like two falling leaves
we read dozens of poems
written on the wind
before we finally reach
our eternal home
We spread our prayer mats on the grass
and wash each other’s wounds
in the flooding rain
in the east
the early dawn
praises the morning
In its light
I place my clay
into the palms of your hands
Can you hear
how my heart thunders
like a grateful river
1990-1992
© A poem by Cecep Syamsul Hari.
© Translated into English
by Harry Aveling
and Dewi Candraningrum.
All rights reserved.
