I slept and dreamt
of immortality
deathly as pinpicks
of butterflies
on trays under
suffocating glass
eternally colourful
wings that could
not would
not
move
(a short distance from
the hospital bed
someone was opening
a window onto meadows
and cool breezes)
and tears
of mortality
were falling
and the rain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem