Wistful words
Hang in a frosted air,
Hopeless things uttered
Sharding a trust.
I look at a floor
Of imperfection
And try to make a mosaic of the brilliant colours
But they are blurring and churning and slip like peas in a frying pan.
My eyelids are so thick and heavy
That
I
I
I,
Uselessly I
Scream into an ocean
It hits a tidal wall and echo’s back.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem