Tinsel being blown around by breezes,
coming from outside an open door.
Tallying amounts of many hours,
sitting, listening to singers of karaoke.
Never having a moment of silence, because
there is only music being played and sung
for one another's enjoyment.
On evenings of relaxation set in motions
of rhythm's existence.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem