You could
Be the yellow bird
That sings to me
for ever and a day
even
In my moments of immorality
Alternatively
you scurry away
burying me in a nest of wasps
They advise me
Saying
I should move on
Be my own redeemer
Nobody understands
You’re my harmony
Without you, my sunflower
All I have is my self-judgment
But apparently
This is called
Being in control
Not wanting this manage
I hurl it
In a glassy bottle
out to the defenseless sea
Carried by the waves
eternally lost
somewhere
anywhere
at the base
of the motionless
yellow sand
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
nice poem...nice writing!