those who are dying
have most of the courage
and so like a molting cobra
they shed off
everything that is old
and with all pain wears
a new body
a shiny color of themselves
shining bravely against
the sun
and do not get near them
by now they know how to bite
and make a new kill
instead of being killed
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem