here in this
house
i think i know
what
Antartica is
how cold it
is perhaps
perhaps, just
perhaps
when love is
gone
when we still
continue living
when we still rock
in a rocky
marriage
well, this is it
tradition, tradition,
sticking it out
like stain to a
white shirt
like the bitterness
inside our throats
which we still
refuse to speak....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem