in extreme sorrow
over your having departed me
without an advance notice
to make me prepare for a funeral
i have chosen a corner, in fact,
a dead end where no one goes out there,
no opportunity for escape,
this is my art now
the repetitive utterances sounding like the waves of
the sea at night when we sat at the port trying to figure out
where the horizon ends
as boats come again to rest with their big ropes again
tied to their necks.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem