A pin can't fall, your lungs can't breathe
A heart stopped, a blade sheathed
Your whole world, sapped, frozen
A manacle placed with ambrosian
All your hopes pushed aside
Wishing that you would have died
So much torment to coincide
The fiery depths of someone’s pride
To suspend, so delicately, on the lips
Whatever the sound, will surely eclipse
The parched dagger, sweating red, as it drips
Blood from my heart, flesh from the whips
The essence of the marrow, now so narrow
So much anguish, it never ceases to languish
Your mouth can move, but it can never improve
The point of the blade, finally reveals the charade
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem