the old place
bore the old man
talking to the moon
drinking his antique
glass with that
aged wine
it will always be
that way
even today for here
you are
with your shadow under
the city skies
neon lights with the
moon
grasping once more
what life really is.
what makes the difference?
your latest gadget
fills none of that old
place of vagueness
that antiquated space
for all loneliness
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem