one can see
an unaffected wire
cage on days when
the lovebirds
are set free
it has no wings
only squares and squares
of the usual
indifference
whether the door is open
or close
what does it matter to it?
an instrument will always be
the usual instrument
there is no imagination
no dream
not even the temporary bliss
of an illusion
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem