Oh child! 
I can see your patient eyes 
Gawping at an open space
Watching dark angels riding snails
Your bowels whistling and mourning with nothingness
Your tight skin closely wrapping your fragile bones, 
Your sunken sockets, your parched lips.
It seems you are nearing the place
Where life and death collide
You are tiptoeing along the fine trapeze of surrender
Impotently letting long days pass you by
In slow motion
Gaunted to skeletal
Picturing at the back of your mind 
An empty funeral, 
No one missing you
For you were all things but elite
Had you been, you wouldn’t be so stricken                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
 
                    