Alcohol that mingle on the
barber's hand
sharp scissor that trim split ends
and cut unwanted hairs
inside a cool-airconed room
in front of the truth-teller mirror
I return back there
a month later
and find out
my in-demand barber is shot dead
I shave my head
a hairless head
a sign of sympathy, begging sooted justice
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem