the first to arrive in that
safehouse hidden in the suburb
was the traitor
snappy and emaciated but still
looking perfectly fit
he went inside the room and
smoked his cigar and took a nap
with his shiny tool
later the liar followed
knocked at the door and went there too
they knew each other for quite long
they drank hard liquor but
are not talking
he went outside and lay himself on a
hammock hang between two trees
surround by the bushes and the flowers
then the third came bringing nothing but
the usual song
and never stopped singing and then
the three met inside the room which they
locked and which i, who is the storyteller
cannot peek since the windows are also
well closed
to keep the secret sealed forever.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem