A part of me died when I was twelve.
I buried it in a soccer field.
There were no mourners, only weeds,
And three black cats, no crucifix.
Some parts of me refused to die,
So atop a hill I planted a lily
That bore no flower, kissed no sun,
Wearing itself of grief till soon
Ants came to claim my piece of land.
Now I grieve, how I really grieve,
For these parts of me that chose to live!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem