A house on a street
In a small neighbourhood
Occupying space as it stands.
Decorations from ages past
Deteriorate as wilting plants
Fill the once vivacious garden
Teemed with luscious vegetation.
The windows cracked in the daylight,
The floorboards rotting to ash;
The porch slowly decaying,
The weather vane turned to rust.
Near the window, an odd thing-
The body of a person, perhaps-
Sits in a chair, staring into space,
Nothing but a shell, a vegetable,
Turned dormant within the house,
As time sucked all matter within it,
Emptiness living within its wake.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem