here is papa's picture
before he died
30 years ago
beside his izuzu pick-up
carrying a bottle of gin on one hand
and a gun on his holster
his right hand holds
the waist of a young woman
in white shorts
he has a pipe on his mouth
a smoke over his head
and he is grinning like a
macho lover
that young woman is not my mother
he says she was his true love
but she was taken away
by the rebels
mother died when i was six
but i already understood what was really going on
papa was very proud of me
he liked my drawings and my
games
i am the only boy
i do not smoke and i do not drink
and i married
the only woman that i really love.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem