Desearted bushy moor
Laid down beneath a lone evening-tree
Marsh around
Snake crawling accross the morass
Cricket creaking
The sky overcast
Plants sensitive to the wind
Shook getting a stink
I am dead long long time ago
Decomposed body rotting
Flesh scattered, bones out...
The shadow inspector came
Started writing accounts
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The poem more or less reflects a common experience in our soil which makes it unique.