Van Gogh once painted
the portrait of the world.
There was everything in it:
the flowers that open
and the doors that close,
the days of moaning
and the days of gold
the paths and the dreams,
the branches and the doves.
Also a child
looking at two lovers
as well as the hour of the birth
and death of every man.
To achieve that portrait, Van Gogh
only had to paint a chair.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem