Her belly is my birthplace,
the womb covered with my thoughts,
I sing her lullabies in the evening,
humming over and over my songs.
With time she grows tired of me,
pushing me out of the dark room,
pushing me out of my first home,
And I cry: “I am finally breathing”.
But I have lost the Woman,
the way she’d touch the wall between us,
the way she’d sing along with my songs,
the only one who’d try to read my poems.