The yard is still wet
The lights glow faintly in the room
The women have swollen eyes
Some stand under the fan
and dry their wet hair
A woman sits amid her close relatives
and stares into the vacuum
The frozen emotions liquefy
Whenever there is a new visitor
An eerie box, transparent and cool still
stands there empty
And begins to sing a song!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem