I have been macerated
My heart open and bleeding
All cheeks soaked with tears
It is not the pain I fear
But death of old, the terminal end
Why should I fear pain?
Of no flesh or bones
Something I can not see
I can get cut by my cutlass
In my garden, see a snake drop by
I may run away not perturbed
By the wound,
Pain where art thou?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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