when i leave
no one cries.
no drama, not
grief, nothing
about loneliness.
there is such a
leaving with
everyone, and
you go nowhere
but only to have
a picnic, be it
at the sea or
in the mountains,
on weekends, past
ten, be it in the
morning or at night.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem