feet will be short and hands so fragile that may even break with
the force of your whisper everything small like tight buds a voice in between two silk cloths tightly folded in ten layers of
silence and indifference
unreadable
syllables, that to you sound so cute and so lovely
small soft thought ike fingers of a new born brother
your father walks to and fro
in the house 27 years ago, like a pendulum counting time
wasting thought
going nowhere, when he died, he said
did you doubt him? that boy he never looks like me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem