First the message kills Poem by Hans Faverey
First the message kills
First the message kills
the receiver, then
it kills the sender.
It does not matter
in what language.
I stand up, throw
the balcony doors open
and take a breath.
The gulls circling
above the snowless street
I will not entice
with gestures of feeding.
I light a cigarette;
return to my post,
and take a breath.
There is nothing to dream.
Everything is possible.
Little matters.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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3/14/2026 9:57:25 AM # 1.0.0
