March
April
May
June, July
And August
When the year crawls
Into the cold hands of this month,
I drift into the abyss of despair
Its rainy hours form
A lifetime of rivers
Rilling down my cheeks.
Some parts I feel of my body severed
Doctors and student doctors
Swarmed a bed clamped with
Tubes and bags of fluids dangling
Like a hydrocoel between the thighs
Of man.
A patient's nose filter via tubes
Drawing oxygen from a yellow cylinder
She choked
My sun set
And she was gone!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem