I wish, each day, I could throw aside the wide
white sheet that has covered you
since that far-off day you died
and find what I know is true
somewhere inside
have you walk down avenues
of afternoons eagerly at my side
deliriously tongue-tied.
How could I, who gave you so many words to wear,
have thought you had nothing more to hide?
I see you lying where
the dull day was dying,
is dying, always still here
where, each day, tongue-tied
I throw aside the wide
white sheet that covers you
watch in despair, dull-eyed,
the page on which I’ve tried
to find you where you always hide
in me and will not reappear
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem