The space between you and me, the air,
is a conduit for conversations past, all jumbled,
declarations of love and idle curses,
folded into the wind.
When vibrations leave a larynx
and are released into the air,
some will stream into cochleas,
some will rise like smoke
and disperse.
Chatter, chatter, chatter,
it’s in the very air we breathe,
the space we bequeath.
It lives on after the speaker,
no matter how distinguished,
has long been extinguished
and lies breathless,
speechless at last.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem