for Etel Adnan
She wrote a poem about her love
and left it on the balcony.
Her lover came and stole it.
So very alone and so
she always tries to write
about imaginary friends,
requesting a poem in exchange
for an invitation to supper.
She dragged her dreams over the page
one after the other
then went to suicide.
Once she neglected her lovers
at the bottom of a notebook: random
bullets killed them.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem