Jaime Buitrago Gil (Nicaragua)
no longer read and write only.
By breathing, My lungs whistle
As full of reeds;
If I raise my arm
Pointing to a cloud, thunder
shoulder Like a broken mast.
A flock can not see
strikes me with his wings;
A bottomless pit
I pulled the feet.
The look flat
Walk the horizon above
not
Ni below.
0 comments:
Post a Comment