to you i am just a voice
there are no hands to rejoice
no lips to press
yours to mine
on such a distance
yet even if distance dissolves
and what you see is this empty glass
still your hand cannot hold it
to a mere touch
the glass breaks
i will just a voice in distance
i will still be a voice in your head in this presence
for i am a slave of air
and to the iron rail i am but a train that is passing by
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem