nothing
is important about
it,
everyone
detests
the built
in superstition
the world
gives it up
except
the hinges
trusting that someday
it's entrance and
exit
becomes
a fad,
until now
the black widow
is not
satisfied about
the reality
of the red
door
she hates the fire
that she had
long lost
to someone else.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem