The Kiss of Death
He was not a smart thief, nevertheless good at opening locks,
but often leaving finger prints behind, he was the one who
ended up in prison…. And when he was told that in an empty
villa where the owners had gone to Spain to avoid the cold,
he decided to go it alone. Breaking in, easy and the painting
“The Kiss” by Munch, hung there on the wall. It got very cold
and snowy, but he could not lit a fire, in case neighbours noticed
and pay a visit; there was no food in the house…. Three day later,
driven by hunger and cold, he tucked the painting under his
arm and went to his car which was snowed in and he didn´t
have a spade so he used the painting to clear the car. The picture
broke in half but still he thought it was valuable.
Finally in the car he tried to start, but the battery was flat, tired
from cold and hunger he fell in the longest sleep; when found
there was a broken, fake Munch painting by his side.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem