A flat black and white screen
becomes a portal
through which worlds
play out,
one pixel,
one keystroke at a time.
He frees himself
from whatever lies
in that space between his head
through a mute screen
with typewritten words that fly;
empties himself
before he dies with it all
locked inside.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very good, and very true; the thoughts must be translated from the head Into words that can be read, Before the poet is dead.