I choose to be an
Observer.
It is a getting away,
A neutrality,
A confusion,
Or an emotional impasse.
No rules in
No ruling outs.
I grow up
Like that
To be that
A
Getting away
Child.
My eyes
Away
My voice away
My writings
My casted away stories
And far away jokes
Are
A getting away
Life style.
I am a bird
Which need
Some
Rest,
A nest,
Some where
Anywhere
just
to feel the ground
cause’
a getting away
is like being a
cloud;
A
rainy,
stormy,
lonesome
cloud
that needs
earth,
the wind
and the crowd
-i mean the steam and the crowd-
to make
a journey to the east
a touch down
where the sun sets
and where my story begin.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem