you are always afraid
to tell anybody that you are dying
perhaps you are simply respecting
them for their mutual silence
you know too well that you are into
the same situation
you are settled upon a conviction that
there is no need
everyone has a way to end living
after having earned
time to believe that after all nothing
is worth the hassle
happiness has become an illusion and
lament and grief have become too real
as forms of dressing up for the
next stable and glorious occasion.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Interesting words Ric, some are ready to take the next journey but most fear the dressing up for the next stable and glorious occasion.