When I saunter and eclipse
Past the rancid rooms,
I can feel the Sun’s
Vigorous flagellation.
The sepulchral silence
That stifles the chest
And the closed doors
Grin at me.
The stairs convolute
Themselves in a downward
Spiral
And I can hear
Conversations,
Tête-à-têtes in
Secret places,
And it’s either
I lost myself
or
I lost the world.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem