The sun melting
like a soap bar,
time yellowing, and there
for the sake of it,
a room with no excuse to
try...
make an excision
and extract,
a moment
left to breathe in,
this is a story
about the death of
you
and you
and you
you,
or you,
U.
me,
he get
dead slow,
but quick
with a
backward glance,
oh! Earth!
I live on you
it's a troubled jail,
feeling out,
I think the door wedge
is about important as
it gets,
imagine that?
I mean, when I think
I can actually hear
something,
that has never caressed
the air,
is it there,
some kind of proof
to uplift you,
my little purse
and promise in
a vacuum,
as you fall haphazardly
inside your little
world of life & death,
your fresh shirt,
new shoe, one gliding,
troubled book
mouth, each page,
flying, shut!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Inside your little world! Nice work.