it is a sad decision
indeed
to stay inside this room
and deny yourself the right
to watch the coming of the
morning sun
between the bosom of two
mountains
for here you are imagining
what the sun is like
within the cubicles of your
own imprisoning disposition.
whatever is written gains
no significance
for it is another imagination
another lie
amidst what is there and what
is real.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem