i was the man
with that black shirt
perhaps what i do not know
is that
i love black
subconsciously
and then i see time creeping
on my white hairs
and then i take a closer
scrutiny on that
pocketed smile
there must be fear somehow
yet there is that glow
of courage
i look straight in my eyes
in that picture
i love black i must admit
it delights my senses
it is warm
and dark like the night
and the storm
and the fallen trees
somehow
i confirm upon myself this
blackness that i love
and then i swear
i love myself and
no one takes that
oath from me again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem