Why complain
Your dagger in my back and you turn
I hear bones crunch and it hurts…
Badly hurts, but still, frankly
No complaint.
I was there, in shower, on the wall a spot
Water fast and was hot, I addressed the nozzle
At spot…an insect, which got killed to be washed.
You have knife, and to you, I am spot.
No complaint.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem