I have starved my stomach for six weeks
For six weeks I have only craved water
Searching for absent soul at the bottom of the glass
I pretend the water forms a river that carves its way through my body
Making creeks in my spirit
Making pools in the gaps of my morals
This river holds the water of the West
It holds the water of the West which I have never seen
It holds the water of the West which I have never seen.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem