Burning!
Yes, it is burning
Between two weak fingers
Eyes gummed on a portrait.
Wall clock over there is exhausting seconds and minutes.
A frail silhouette invites to be one with it.
Darkness lures to bed.
Cruel smoke hatches plot of assassination.
A good Samaritan comes.
I win.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem