I know of death,
Incensed with all of it.
The weighty strain of darkness,
Eyes closed, stopped ears, stuffed nose.
I was petrified while the world stumbled,
My wordless mouth gapes like a maw
Needing stitches.
I lounge in a toga,
Motionless as erect alabaster.
I was born to die,
But not like this.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem