The hands I hold
Are those of a person lonely
Whose aspirations have led him
Beyond cold
Bitter, undesiring
The head on my shoulder
Is one of a person endlessly dismal
Whose ignorance has drowned him
In thought, in burden
The face I caress
With my abominable touch
Drained with worry, temptation
Yet void of disgrace, hesitation
Is of the person not listened to
Unnoticed, ignored
What I see, a mirror
Far too shattered
For the shapes to be discerned
And for colors bright
The hands I hold
The head on my shoulder
The face I caress
All my own
Yet unrecognized, denied
How long will I live
Before I can fix this mirror?
So the others could see
What I know
Who I am
Why I think
Where I stand?
Maybe once I let go
And turn my back
To the person endlessly sad
Whose hands I hold
Who I am
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
So very sad and touching beautiful rhythms Thanks for sharing BB : O)