you lose a fight
then two, then three
tongues throw words like tiny stones
you drag home tattered bits of hope
and wrap your wounds with them
nights pass by
you lose another fight, lose
another friend, another night
the sky spits shooting stars
that never grant a wish
you go on
keep walking, burying bits of you
in basements and empty bottles
you hold a hand to your chest
make sure the heart’s still beating
then you win a fight
then two, then three
cement sets inside, no more soft
you wonder how anyone could be so weak
how cement could ever be liquid
how soon you forget
those stones have made
a mountain
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Ben, ths is beautiful. It's true I've forgotten what it's like to lose a fight, but this certainly puts it in perspective. Your poetry alwasy does, though. I'm a big fan Xs and Os