Below the thick blanket,
I have the hot packs,
Between the shoulders,
Just under the neck’s border,
Another one support the legs,
Not to get frozen from the cold,
The place I sleep is too quiet,
Red buttons are fixed near and far,
I can hear the gossip through the walls,
And sometimes I join them in conference calls,
I am safe, far from attack, close to the comfort,
My hot packs are always warm to keep me calm.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Safe and far from attack yet close enough to hear through walls in a warm atmosphere. Beautiful poem. Thank you.