Poem written in the dark
to be born yellow
stained in the heart
unable to kill the lyrical I
without asking for forgiveness
The poem weak, indolent,
written on the sly, hungry
while the wheels of cars pass over / next
combining to the sound of a melody on the radio
(permanently switched on,
classical music)
and the smell of leather
in the notebook
stillbirth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem