Staring at the ceiling, wondering what will be happening,
Looking at pictures on the wall, waiting for the mind ringing,
Filling emptiness in the room with curiosity raging,
Praying they would be pleasing and not breaking;
For if they are, I don’t want to know,
Never want to die understanding...
Gazing through the torn pieces lying on the floor,
Trying to put them back as they were before,
Mixing and fixing and believing there is still hope in store,
Shamming that no one did walk out of that wooden door,
For if they did, I don’t want to know,
Never want to die grieving...
Hurting and shattering more and more as I’m aging,
Leaving pride, virtues, policies and time behind, waiting,
Stopping when it’s tiring, continuing when it’s healing,
Craving for answers hoping for them not to be disappointing,
For if they are, I don’t want to know,
Never want to die losing…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem