Rusty hinges creeked
A stick walked in front
Guiding a fragile frame.
It tapped the corners
And advanced with shaky motion
The stooped figure
With two hollow sockets
eyes buried deep
cheeks pushed in
with no dentures
Grappling in the dark,
sniffing the edges,
rubbing the table,
to take hold
of a lost memory.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem