Thrown face down
On a heap of waste
Was the book, the old one, 
I had read when the dreams were still so colourful, 
A gaping hole right through the cover, 
A toothless mouth with wrinkled lips
Opening in the agony of the very last breath.                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
 
                     
                
Amazing imagery, Byju! Thanks for sharing