Me, getting used with these
As the wind howling
Whispering a spot of silence
Again just shrugged
I fly to sands and rocks
Laughing, shaking, and shouting at me
Standing among'em is a heart
Without knowing what took me here
They see me a girl
Fulfilled by flowers and scent of fertile
Trapped in an ancient mannequin
Quiet and grey as old
Grin is just a fake
A fake that laughs the universe
Silently, it forces the water to come out
Call it just tears
To whom I stand firm
Even clouds change the shapes
How I beg myself to recover
Again with mask
Mannequin of a lady
Corpse in a beautiful cold
Sorrow in a fertile soil
Share the clothes
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem