A pain that grows
grows like no other...
Not like a flower that blossoms
from the ground.
More like a burning cigarette
in the night.
Heroes know well
what real love is.
Mannequins on display
are lucky...
They never have a fixed pose.
Truth is always attached...
to something that can't be seen.
Sad eyes that dream...
can dream
What no one else... can ever see.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem