i am preparing for a hike.
a long one.
to latin america.
i like to start from the trail of tears
and then,
follow the path of latino americans
in their way to the north.
it make sense to me to do the opposite direction.
i mean north to south,
the long
and painful cut.
i have trouble finding my chess board.
it is the last piece of my back pack.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem