Bird that sings today
And
At times in muted silence stand
Do you feel my Mother here?
They said:
Birds have intuition exceptional.
Shall you exception be?
My mother's funerary
Remains in the cemetery rest
And
In my heart there's wound
And wounds
That fester worst - in competition.
As struck by an arrow
And then the first blood oozed out
And still am I being struck by other arrows:
Till I collapse
Bends me in your hands as the Pieta
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem