his thoughts are like
tall, untamed grasses
no one lives there anymore
and everyone is
afraid,
even the dogs, they sniff
a story
of a bitch who went in there
and never
came back, alive.
the grasses are sharp like swords
and tricky like
a mad magician who kills its willing
subjects alive
and escapes in the air like a
whiff of
a sigh
the grasses are alluring, and one white dog
thinking of the bone
and the meat of the jackal
one night
slipped in there like a thief
the sounds of one choked fade
like a denim.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem