She sits on the floor
Her books piled up,
she's leaning over the workload,
heavily ladened on her shoulders.
Stress creeps up from under the surface,
worry stretches across her mind,
still its elewhere.
Her friends say she's a boffin
I see something else.
She cannot stop, she's afraid
Her life seems to depend on her finnishing.
Like a parent, she's exhausted.
Too many late nights
up till morning, working.
She puts on a brave face,
making it out to be nothing.
I see her real feelings,
hidden away underneath,
secretly locked away and held prisoner.
Seeing her like this kills us,
we've no idea how to help, only to sit back
and be tortured.
Watching the flames slowly swallow her.
She has no idea.
She see's herself as something little.
She has no idea how much we see,
or the enormity of the love we hold for her.
Mayby one day she'll realise.
The day that all flames are extinguished,
and she finnally notices who she is.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem