Poet, Oh poet, you are literate and subtle in your gentle words. You know what to say about my life, about my little song, that riding through timeliness. Sometimes it happens, that is very need, it need like for the last time to be a women with a man. In the bed with his penis between the legs, to stay on a women desirable. And tell, spread the word, poet, as how important be a women on the war, among the blood, swords and bullets that whistle between inhalation and exhalation.
Sometimes, it’s very painful to stay a women amidst the violence and pain, among damages, ruins and anger.
Poet, I ask you transfer my letter in to the poetry. It so small and short that no make any difficulties to you!
To be a women with children, and with God, with mother and father, with brother and sister. To be a women is so hard!
Those “Ah and Oh”, In beds and gnashing jaws of the severity of stones, that thrown at me all still the same faces.
Perversions, violence drugs and pain. And sex, gosh! It’s only there I can be myself, Earth Planet Women.
I have no wish to finish my letter to you, poet.
Please forgive me for my rue to you, but this words I have to told you.
You can be correct sometimes you know, when you searching justice in words.
I beg you, from all my heart, transfer my letter in to the poetry.
The candle is extinguished, but heart is still goes beat.