obsessed
it is more than
often
that visits are
done
the picture
tells it most
felt on
top of his chest
near to the
heart
of course
the picture is
inanimate and so
is the
place, the window is
alive only
with the wind that
from time to time
gets in
pain is abundantly
growing
like weeds
and mussels
'the sooner you
get it over with
the better' always
is the message
from friends and
kin
pain is better
than numbness,
pain assures
that you are
still alive
rather than the
numbness which makes
you wonder
'am i still here? '
the question roams
around the room
looking for
the answer....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You are here. You will always be here. Others, like me, come and go. You are the window. We are the wind. That is your pain.