no one dies
from the viewpoint of our
eyes
as children
everyone is alive
and too remember
when his papa died
he only sees him
sleeping
surprised why his mama
is crying
why clothes have to be black
why there is
nothing but sobbing
and patting of shoulders
and arranging
flowers and
saying a very lengthy
prayer
bored and
feeling so strange
he leaves the wake
goes outside and looks
for his friends
and then they busy themselves
with their
games and laughter
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem