up all night too
i wrote something too personal for you
i could not find
the best metaphor for it
and so
i went literally
on the
consonants of my
grappling
the following morning
i look for
beauty
there is none
and so i deleted it
there is no sense
of the divine
there is only that
mundane grasshopper
singing under the sun
nothing about the sacrifices of the ants
or the redeeming quality
of the turtle
i am not impressed at all
about what i am
i am waiting for the right time
to find the reason why i must
open and bloom
why i should not take the pain some more
in the tightness of my
bud.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem