The fingers that dropped the pencil
echoing across the desk
that caught the release
Fold quaintly beneath a tired cheek.
Eyelids begin to droop
and retinas penetrate comfortable darkness
Searching for an escape
from the monotone background.
A scalp allows the hair
to fall before the face
Hiding self-conscious impurities
and captivating a mystery
in a loose embrace.
A book of lines lies empty
For the pencil is no longer
dancing through
attempting fingers.
The caffeine that grasps
attention has long since worn off
When the lack of priority
has become the insomnia.
So open your eyes
little one
View and reveal
your hidden reserve.
It’s time to wake up
and smell the new intentions.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
i've read all your poems. and i like the way you play with your words. very much.