syllables don't weep
words don't sleep
tucked in the bed of his tongue
stanzas won't collapse into ashes.
When a poet dies,
and his body is dispatched to the ground,
organic truth walks around his funeral
if there is any,
and seeks an other habitat
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
But, one humble question..... Are you convinced by that? ? ? Nor I ! ! !