Either stacked in rows or alone,
meticulously the inside stays hidden.
What counts is the cardboard uniform.
Is there something valuable beneath it? Cause for concern?
Or will you find what everyone expects?
It could be a letter from a forbidden woman,
a doll, a strand, perhaps a testament.
All or nothing, the outside denies.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem