This is me,
In a photograph,
The same number of
Senses as you have,
Look at me
With your eyes,
Touch me
& hear me
do not use
your heart yet
this is me again
she tells you
philanderer
lying bastard
unfaithful
you will listen
and you too will speak
about me
touch, retouch,
view, review,
impressions of me
beyond the photograph
what you believe
from what I am
how you perceive
some slides
of me
presented to you
this is me
this is not me
there will be
doubts
and I will die
laughing in
my forest dream
with your dwarfs
but soon
I will stop
What am
I and what I am
Not, what is
True from
What is fake
Finally when
I find
What true
Love is and
What it can
Really do
With my own
Dwarfs now
In my own
Dreams in
My own time
Even without
Your wishes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem