There is the smooth, steady, rhythmic sound.
fth, fth, fth...
of your heart sliding...
back and forth and forth,
in its sterile metal bowl-
as they wheel it away to sleep for a time
in a formulated winterland
You- lying there, cold and alone
your life flown from your eyes
like; a butterfly emerged from its cocoon,
and you are no longer you-
only a dry husk reaped for harvest,
side of the head concave, impacted-
to release your soul from its shackles
and you, are no longer you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem