Lot of things Indeed we Missed
Some of which are people right within our Midst
They call us alot, we call them not, now they are gone leaving us pissed
We miss them a lot but we cant find the courage to talk to them.
Not that we fought, for there is not anything like that to report.
Is it pride, self-esteem? Or the friendship we declined.
Look at the fragments we are left with
Our time with them we missed, people we can trust and joke with
Vacant is their place in our heart, with anyone we couldn't just replace it with.
Everytime we think of them, the feeling of delinquent is what we are left with.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem