Speechless and blank in thought
again and again, the noose glance at me below,
while the unsteady chair is like the last restraint beckoning.
A note; yet to be composed.
A pen in hand and a noose above,
hoping the act would be done with an explanation,
excuses and blames really do not stand here... No, no more,
yet a blank page... Still unwritten.
Ah! Sighs and resignation,
with those I plug my head in,
a deep breathe and I would be no more,
yet no note, no excuses.
What am I to say...
'sorry I left no note' or what?
Nothing pushing, nothing worth contemplating,
with that i take the leap, still without a note.
Struggling and choking
the vestiges of reality dawn one last time,
and fades with my receding breathe,
a smile well written on my face.
With that a note is made.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
good job.Chinwe. hope you keep putting more works.