Saturday night, quiscence dressed with nightly sorrow
forgotten longings blues i whisper
my head lightly bends
and a cigarette in my hand smolders
A sip from my whiskey
a dropp of your absence
a little blue from your eyes
and a version of life which will become peace
Sitting in a pale light for background
on the wrong side of the road
observing their moves and being demoralize
i learn how their suspicious eyeshots to avoid
Hopping in a “cant be done miracle”
I always was a visitor in expectations
without face value;
with a smile, with an illusion
In the despair of a gelid night
in the soulless streets
were lights exist only to quench after a while
i am writing you a strange love letter........
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem