It's that day again
when the candles
steal your breath
And everyone
trades a present
for a kiss
while I'm doing
once again
the thing you hate
in a place
where everyone
is flat
which makes me
incapable, a pawn
in a game of chess
paralyzed,
unable to move
not even backwards.
I am
an impractical man,
a stone, uncorrupted
an echo
of: 'why can't we be
more than poetry? '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem