Hello!
This is Pakistan speaking.
I just called to let you know
that I'm very sick these days,
feeling nauseated all the time like a woman:
something rumbles inside me kicking my flanks.
You know what?
My sons are talking in the Library of Babel.
I've asked Borges to watch over them,
my faithful and obedient sons,
claiming that they love me above everything:
they can sacrifice their lives and all for me.
Since you ask,
lemme tell you that I trust them all.
As I'm aging, they've gone to the Library
to decide as to who will take care of me.
You know, it's been a long time now;
I'm very sick, feeling nauseated, waiting.
Left unattended, I feel like a bystander.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is good. I like the metaphor of library.