a new week begins
and the end should be Easter;
instead, it may end bitter
after five days of hope
anticipation and deception
and disappointment
with futile palming of the cold interior
of the mail box and waiting hopelessly
for the phone call that will cause a start
but end in an unrelated whimper
(from The Migrant - notes of a newcomer (February 1997- July 1998))
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
a nice piece..well written using less words.