it is the rush
but why the rush?
it is the shortness of the breath
of time
inside the nostrils of
the unwavering
what the mind means
goes with the sound
and the fingers
as lousy as
then
the building
faints
(nice metaphor)
when what is meant
was that
the building is painted
white, a while, you mean?
gosh, this is the rush
of life
committing to a
commitment of mistakes
here and there
but why bother?
it is something that you leave
without paying much
attention
off you go,
let them bark
like dogs on the
wrong tree.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem