the first time you
hear about death
that time when you
were so young
wearing that tight &
smooth
skin- you did not
really pay
attention,
in fact it is
irrelevant,
and then you go to
that middle age,
a disease here sometimes
and a misfortune
on the other
lots of worries, skins
begin to wrinkle
and then you hear about
death again
you feel touched
you shiver
lots of talks and
you pretend
there is nothing that
affects you
and then here you are
now,
the doctor reveals
your secrets
like a priest
and you confess your
sins
your guilt
you having done nothing
to keep this
body and soul
together
you shiver, you tremble
like a building on
an intensity 8 quake
you bet
you are bored about fear
now you look at death
as a friend
and soon you are willing
to walk with it
hand in hand
along the road to
freedom
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem