consider this: of always masquerading
as one without a mask
When you look over your shoulder and say;
no, you never knew me then
you only saw the parts
I sent out with the rubble of the Parthenon
What returns? Smoke, and
the knowledge that I am safe.
Libraries have burned.
I am safe.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem