In this white room I stand, with light in my eyes without a glance, with a rose in my right, and a knife in my left, there is so much we can ask, like why am I here and why do I stand? But all I want to ask you is which would you like right or left; and if it's the left, can I pick the part of my back.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem