too many words,
too many promises,
too many loves
meant to be forgotten,
too many woes
these telling and retelling,
how can i be so submissive
to these literatures of lament, these incantations of madness?
a pain in the neck
a migraine, somehow, i lack sleep and the dogs keep on barking
on the streets of sorrow,
on the boulevard of broken dreams,
lights shutting off slowly like fireflies dissolving in the horizon.
it is morning,
and a yellow bird with a black beak is chirping on a twig
just beside my window.
i breathe the breeze from the sea.
The seagull pass by.
A yacht with a white sail and white banners is approaching the port.
My loneliness like an island
A broken port, a history of a typhoon, a rope, and a fallen coconut.
Someone farther from this house is waiving a hand.
A white handkerchief. A truce.
I am sleepy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem