every part of you tightens
and you feel choked
air has become
a precious element
rare in your
hold,
the process continues
and you grasp for reason
where there is none
finally the fruit comes
ripe
luscious
sweet
and fallen
and you who grew the tree from where
the fruit comes
do not bother.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice..... Somehow liked it