Far away, the message came
that he was gone
Then death was a hearsay,
now it is at my very feet.
Three days later, a crypt is made
on one side of it, the bearded red earth
In another moment, the beard with shovels
is shaven,
the ground level
And death no longer a rumour.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem