I don't know much about death.
I can tell you how powerful the body
looks when it is waiting to go,
into the pyre.
Standing on to of a high-rise,
looking down below,
a strange homesickness grips me.
Full of empty content.
As if sad and full of resentment,
as if instead of the
bottle and the wine - keys...
we are left with the hangover and the kingdom.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem