Predators are on prowl.
I was searching my home with
a peacock feather.
Books are empty. I start
thinking. Shut the windows. Will
wait for light to open the door.
The compass will not work.
I will tear the heart. I can do anything.
To find my path or offer the blood to the moon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem