The King
I am the king of the room
My crown is the dust of morning
And the land is my palace
I am the king of the room
The giver, books do not compete with me
I am standing like a coat stand
The eternal, like humidity on the wall.
Windows are in front of me
And the chair is my limping horse
*
The king of kings, I am!
Nothing except the table
And the notebooks on it
Except the fingers hidden in the softness
There is nothing except what I possess
*
I am a king made of doors and wrinkled clothes
And the splattered images on the wall
A king made of flying words as flies
A king made of the cold
And the injurious loneliness
I am a king of coughing
And the decaying teeth
*
I am a king at the wasteful time
And I fall sometimes
I am a pale king
I am a little king
King!