they are burying the dead today
a loved one
with Parkinson's disease
they all wear white and they look
all too well for the mourning
of the dead
they fly white balloons
they sing the songs for the dead
ah, the living knows
how to socialize an event
with all the metaphors
i am watching and i am sighing
asking 'what is the fuss about this empty shell? '
afraid that they will call another one a freak
i mix with the crowd and has become another unknown.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem