I will be unable to stop,
with my little hands,
the wall intended,
to fall over me,
and the storm,
to over run me,
my little eyes bilink to close,
while pungent smokes
that are to blur my mind.
there is one reality,
that hangs like a dagger,
on my tip of nose,
that you becoming different,
day by day,
It breaks my innermost silence,
and tranquillity,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem