You burn,
Scream,
Bleed
On treetops,
Grass,
Me.
You try to drown yourself in the sea,
Every day,
But,
Sea spits you back in the morning,
Like a piece of spoiled meat.
Even death doesn’t want you.
Us, who praise your light,
Your blood and screams of agony.
“We don’t want your pain to end! ! ! ”
Like a painting, song or a poem,
We just enjoy your pain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Like a piece of a spolid meat with the mus eof life. Nice work.