when he turned pale and fainted
he blamed it on his dieting
he said he did not eat breakfast
that morning
when his eyes turned red at noon
he said he got sore eyes
and blamed the knob of the
door for the infection
and on the night when he locked
his room he said he wanted to
sleep early as he lacked sleep
writing his poems
he drank poison a la socrates
and when he died
the froth on his mouth looked like
the bloom of a
while million flower
he did not tell the truth
that his wife left him with another man
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem