the wind loves its own source of water
and - goes to the window -
from its mundane minority
already past
does not matter - it loves the wheels -
the absence of doors -
does not matter - it loves the queen to beg
I know my mind - the country I live -
I have one -
beyond your attention -
beyond my skin -
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem