Cut into pieces and spread
over the thoughts,
Love demands to be no longer
dead, stagnant and diluted.
Trees can now be
travelling inside the head.
If you see them with pupils
you can hate.
The brain is hated like mice
needing no beautiful tree.
Hungry mice rally and festoon
the place of the trees.
My love is dilute now.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem