Hot winter
The girls wear short skirts
some dance and celebrate
guys are hawks; hair fashioned
winter is, once again a summer.
Some like me in wonder
with nothing from air
how will be the summer?
For me though different
my parents desperate
on end of December
the same was my birthday.
Dad sold the animals…
history repeated.
Now and then similar.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem