Falling I fell only to be, felt, lifted by your strings
With wooden skin, she speaks for me, similar to a puppet
Locked in, Pinocchio’s thoughts, a box you brought
As audience adorn And the box,
lies on the lit stage, there I will see my dawn.
Working like an ox, as hours age.
performing pile of sticks, limbs, she thinks for them.
In the blank, my words were carefully picked
My mouth murmured them, but in the black they sank.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem