Eleven years of history slumbers between us.
Under the surface, it breathes.
It wonders if it has been forgotten,
Abandoned, lost.
I wondered if he could see the breaths,
The thoughts rising like colorless,
Medicated balloons.
I could.
The rearrangement of life, the history,
You and I.
And the madness, O how it burrows.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem