Gazing dreamily at the huger clock,
An article of the paper wounded me;
Doubling my eyesight, kneeling before the king
Was more precious, since they were goats.
This inanimate word bleated at my heart,
Petals won their splendour.
But not now that it wounded me!
For they started to cry on the safe side,
And they became men when women were around,
The force of the hunt deceived everyone,
My murders were four hundred,
My dining happened tomorrow,
And the words spoke bouncing to the knowledge.
I had been one convict,
And I had been in love with prison
For a time.
But then I started to cry,
And they saw that words were never mine,
And I was wounded,
Due to joy and the realities of the day,
Words were wrecking me no longer,
I saw the reading and bled.
I had been murdered!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem