Here,
Take this knife
Sever my arms
Gorge out my eyes
Cut out my tongue…
Just don’t touch my heart…
Someday when this body becomes a fable …
Your grandchildren would come to the museum
To see my still beating heart in a jar...
From there...
They will go straightway to the cemetery
And spit on your obscene graves…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem