A stampede of feet
stirs his sullen silence;
stomped on his bed.
Outthere - of which
no privacy's known.
He recollects rags,
jumbled and dirty,
sure that everything
has use - recyclable,
non-biodegradable.
Liked this one too Melanie... I really enjoy your short verse Best CJ
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
like a nomadic vagrant. Where the streets have no name. Short. Compact. Rich. Insightful. Mels, i always come back to you because you are the best. xxsjg