I tell you that I’m living a middle class life.
But you change its direction.
Still I try to cut a place from the ground
to make it void.
You stretch the terrace like a mattress
body of the walls of the terrace appreciates me;
the cornice sits stretching its legs.
I’ve lived one life.
Another life is waiting for me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem