to capture
beauty with your bare hands
the fingers
have to be hurt
to hold peace
you cannot do it with your
hands in the
shape of a fist
to be king
you only have to be
alone
to regain speech
one must take the cudgel
of silence
yes, it is this sacrifice
that gathers the pieces
back to the treasure box
of the self
again
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem