i am a piece
of blank paper now
do not write upon
a page of my soul
i prefer this emptiness
as i prepare for
the coming of the author
of a book
i am a closed mouth
speechless in waiting
i am a hand closed
upon itself
an eye gazing to
a mountain ahead of me
i am a body that soon
you shall own
there is a word that
i want you to utter
to open my door
to spread the steps of my chair
you must first entice time
you must first embrace a moment
and then it shall be done
and then it shall be over....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem