His words were all for him.
laughing to the ones that sounds not funny.
only the creator knows who was with him,
for his house was empty under the bridge.
His words will last for hours and days,
with a bottle of water and a pack of cigarette.
who cares if his words were true,
for the sun was so hot as they cue.
He careless,
possing in best rag.
emphasizing his words
to passersby.
Older ones kept distance,
younger ones threw dirt at him.
All this made him smile,
his words, he stood at it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
i love this old man i don't know why ^_* i like your poem