you must have thought that others
keep on thinking of you
perhaps you are wrong
they are too busy then with their own
state of affairs
you think ill
and can't forgive
you get sick
in return
what have you got then?
this cancer of your brain
this sickness unto your own death
the grave that you dig
your own body
that you throw into such
a resting place
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem