A waste of time
I have been so busy writing
that I have not had time to write.
Ploughing meagre soil
the harvest not enough to feed my heart.
A mountain of words that tell nothing
more than a wall to hide behind.
"what was it all about Alfie? "
A question that has no answer.
My August casts long shadows
and the famine continues.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem