I am dying every day
I speak not of the cells
Which die all the time
Changing my body
As I write
I speak not of my thoughts
Which birth and fade
Like shadows
Under passing clouds
I speak of my hopes
For my country killed
By the morning news
Whose corpses
Line the streets
Of my mind
Till the eye can see
New ones are born
Every day
And then they die
Taking a bit
Of me, with them
Again and again
Time after time
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem