what i wanted to say
i cannot say
and what i said is not
really what i wanted to say
because of your foreboding
your rules are making me
what i am not
you keep on looking at me
reminding me not to say it
and so i keep it inside me
for all those years
you are my own ghost for even
if you are dead
you are always there restraining
filtering and here i am lost
in the translation of myself
from word to wolf, from syllable
to bubble, in such a bloated gleam
with sparkling rainbow in my
emptiness, bursting once and
never twice.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem