when illusions burst
you freeze. stand still.
all you remember is how to loose.
and the feel of the noose
doesn't evoke a chill.
nonexistence beckons
its colors - transparent, none.
like an elusive Beckett
after Godot was gone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hi! I was expecting a haiku made of 17 syllables.....I was looking for that kind of pieces....anyway thanks for sharing your creations.