I've been talking to a
man that i never really
know who
and he is also talking to
me as though
we are familiar
places
and known faces
We have no more
questions to ask
about ourselves and
we are talking about
how to improve this
world and solve
some of its problem
I am real, i am my picture
he is a shadow, and he has two names
he proposes solutions,
as i agree,
Then tonight we go back to our
rooms, look at the clock,
it is deep and dark and cold
and we sleep again
taking time, rest, and perhaps
dream, and recall
what dreams we had
the night before until everything goes
blank and someone
who sees both of us
must have felt pity
That we are not yet dead.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem