The pavements are sleek
with rain in neon colours.
Figures in frozen doorways gasp
their anguish, alarm, delight.
Undress their hearts
with ludicrous, loud gestures.
The brazen colours of the city
threaten to bleed beyond the margins.
On that rain-oiled pavement
a figure keeps gazing up at an empty window
reflecting light as would a blind eye.
He seems to be waiting for some brush
or pen’s gleaming stroke
to animate the scene.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem