'Why haven't you ordered my chips? '
asks the woman of her husband,
at the table next to mine -
and they proceed to have a lengthy
argument, with sarcastic innuendos,
on the art of ordering correctly.
The one of them does not hear the other,
their eyes do not see each other
do not notice that the years have made
some bitter lines there,
setting their hearts in cold stone...
They do not realise that the sea and
shores are not waiting for them...
that the tides come and go,
regardless
of whether one has had ones chips or not.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wise and sad, Yuri. I really like your stuff. Keep it coming, please. Don