Clapping,
they are always clapping for me,
but wickedly
with their slightly parted lips
smiling their death smiles,
silently whispering—
We know who you are
an iceberg in a puddle,
a grand, intricate illusion
fooling only yourself.
Tragic,
how easily I believe them
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem