she made of me a being of floor
quite a small walker in the sky
a researcher in the scream of angel
I am the imperfect where the mouth speaks
I am the ugly because the soul is quiet
and the rest of my theory
my small prose of the arguments
unsaid
cursed
for the love of the faithful love
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Pardon the pun, but, haunting. Thanks for sharing.