the walls face you again
with the usual questions
they were answered before
and now they come begging
for new answers telling you
times have changed like the
color of fading jeans, and
your answers have become
unsatisfactory. you state
your case and you beg
the judge, that somehow
the need for rephrasing
has become a necessity.
you straighten your tie
feel the collar on your neck
and say: I am ready, shoot.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem