There's a feeling inexpressible by even a writer
Like Peter Pan, it refuse to go older
All round clock, irrespective of the weather,
I don't care, report me to my mother.
Like a moon to a werewolf, fresh out of the shower
Excited, I jump out of my skin, into my bed like a diver
Then my shaking limb limps into grabbing the cover
Almost immediately, hidden I become underneath the wrapper
Within my cold curdled blood, my sorrows become lighter,
Cuddling the pillows, and kicking foot to another
I laugh at the dive and shakes which never grow older
An excitment I had right from when I was younger.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem