How much do you contribute
to the slow death of the sun? Light is
fainting. You grope in a dark pocket.
I calculate your pains.
Ignorance was bliss. The knowledge
makes you weak and small.
I celebrate you in my
poems to understand me in the
jungle of hyenas. I refuse to be a kill.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I also refuse.