that early morning
the question was asked
why did you do it
and you all have the
reasons from all the
corners of your wits
in the afternoon
when red turns to orange
when everything goes home
when all colors fade in
the back of those dark
walls and fences
the same question is asked
and you have no answer to
give, perhaps tired of
all lies, you embrace the
truth, sleeps upon its bed,
dreams in the softness of
its pillows, sincerely
you wish that you were
dead.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem