in the luxury of our silence
we still refuse to spend a word
for that is the irony of
luxury of the rich
when they have more in words
they keep them well
always having second thoughts
releasing them into air
or woods
or into the comforting numbness of
the listening ears
of the mob
or the
other people
which
Sartre had long defined
as hell....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem