What is this life
like the sun rising and dying
someone beginning and someone stopping
without presence being felt
without effect, striking, ending
long rituals of waste?
nothing saved except
years squandered in bed
feigning and unfeigning
the blood flows but doesn't complain:
time seals the strife
born, married and dead?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem