A constant stranger close to me
Has been wherever I would be,
A usual short, but sometimes tall
And fond of leaning on the wall.
A friend I think I ain’t know much
For when I talk and he’ll just watch;
So strange this friend I call a name,
Will follow me without a shame.
I doubt this friend and yet uncertain,
It’s either he or maybe she
And though his figure is uneven,
Still glad to be his company.
He will appear when light is cast
But leaves me when there’s night at last,
And all my life he’s been a stain
I can’t get rid this thing so plain.
But never mind though friend or not,
He’s just a fellow I stare at;
He’s never big and not so small,
He’s just a shadow after all.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It had me going, I like it!