you feast upon facts.
and facts dance around you
showing the best that they can be
though not as beautiful
as always
for at times facts can be so
damn hurting.
and when hurt
you feel the uselessness of words
that like daggers
may have only the function of stabbing
you more
you bleed and you look at yourself
so helplessly
bleeding
you have nothing to say
you remember only one thing
and this they notice
with glee
you keep on looking at the injury
your hands busy wiping
the blood
your mouth blowing the pain away
hushing
soothing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem