It looks, it is counting
of me. No celebration. I was
standing, where life ends.
Do not go in water,
where god waits. Are you telling
a lie? I am meeting the evils.
Hard, my pores are bleeding.
There is a struggle to learn the truth.
No intimate pain. I am becoming new.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem