Dark and full of depth
Yet displayed on flat surface
My shadow is a fraction of what it use to be.
A slender hand, palm up
with delicate fingers holds a smoke
tilted in the air.
Elbow resting on crossed legs.
I am not who i use to be.
Not new...nor old.
Just a mere shadow of what i use to be.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very well written, Kristin