No, the earth, the old soil, nor the air, the same air, my taste works, everything that is left is out of place, it is disappearing from our tribe one by one, everything I loved is going to nothing, like the winter water, my heart is crying, the thin glass of the heart, waiting for the flicker
of grief, the empty tables, the thin hands of the people, the flogging of ignorance, the noble body of the people, the sadness of the execution of the star, the destruction of the free cedar, the shooting of anemones, gardening, the wind , all the drops of blood that are in the The screams of all these things that I have said are breaking my hatred in me every day, like the winter clouds, my heart is crying from the cry of the thin glass of my heart, waiting for the flicker.
