The hands again (tiếng Anh)

No seas in books

I seek oceans, but they don’t respond
No bed in the trees
whenever I want to rest, its dangerous branches awaken
No dialogue in language
their words only reach my lips, never my inner nerves
No fields in the clouds
only blood that tries to give its news to horizons
No Seas No Books
No Bed No Tree
No Dialogue No Language
No Fields No Clouds

Grow strong, my hands; if you should,
they’d pay attention, then.