Somnolent pastimes being held in daylight, left over from
last night's dreams, slipping away from the edges of night,
looking for miracles to appear.
Searching for someone to talk to, a human touch, but there
seems to be none wherever you look, others are hiding behind
masks, afraid of another asking them for too much.
Bandying about disguises, not wanting anyone to know how
selfish they are or seeing their mistakes and failures, kept
secretly within them.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem