I am breathing, am I breathing?
my corpse thinks so laying somewhere;
if there is life, I can't decide-
and of my death, no one takes care
if I'm dead, why there is no one
to bury my corpse under six feet?
if I'm alive, why there is none?
why I'm numb? and, any treat?
my eyes are open, world's absent,
blood is drying on my body curves,
some flies are sitting on my wounds,
which seems unpleasant to my nerves!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem