With respect to the banal
Or matters less trivial.
The time spent wishing
Sat under a tree-
Still, like air,
That smothers proverbial
Places to go
And people to see,
Passing in hours,
Rushing in sequins,
Catching the arm
Of a chair. At the table
Sitting in silence,
Waiting and waiting
To find that you really
And truly are able.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Some fine imagery here, 'rushing in sequins' especially, brevity and deliberate choice of simple words works well to support your refined introspection. Rgds, Ivan