I built a pile,
with all of your things.
Then set it on fire,
with gasoline.
Who are you now,
with nothing to show?
No one to show it to,
and nowhere to go?
I beg that you throw yourself,
on top of your stuff.
Doing it right now,
is not soon enough.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem