A wreck of myself goes on display at the gate
Gawkers line up to view a life that once
Promised so much, plans laid up end to
End, neatly like dominoes waiting
Come aboard all of you and see
What has become of me one
Day when I thought the
World will never end
No one can know
The exact time
Life's prime
Running
Daily
No
Stops
Rushing
Like a train
Someone pulls
The string, ding, ding
Screeching to a full stop
My life's just one messy heap
No strength left to help myself
A pile of clothes unwashed, dishes
On the sink, the morning comes thru slats
Light comes in, flat in bed, gnats on my head
Who let the dogs out, the cats, trampling me down
They come in and stare, choose souvenirs to take away
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Civilizations come and go, the relics are all that is left of what man has prided himself of achieving, structures of stone, glass and steel, testimonial that man, himself is fragile. Perhaps, that's the true reason pyramids are made, and books written. Or poems express fragile feelings.