An angry bird with angry wings,
fluttering inside my stomach,
pecking at me,
every hour and minute,
and though tired refuses to quit it,
I fall to the ground,
a dreadful sore on its way
just on the inside of my ribs,
where the bird had pecked,
and since has left,
a scar to remember the pain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem