i am nothing more
than an illiterate priest,
sharing table scraps
thrown out by the rich,
with mongrel dogs...
barking and howling,
and peeing on dreams,
in the alleys of the soul.
a blind plumber
fixing the leaks,
for a cola and a can of beans.
an old man sipping brandy
with tired ghosts,
a child left alone
with discovery!
i am the hand you reach for,
the face you cannot understand.
the tear you buried
on your angry pillow,
the prayer you stuffed in a bottle,
and put out to sea...
the kiss, and the scent
of hope!
i am nothing....
I am nothing Yet everything, to write such as this, fantastic poem.
Eric, too much of agony really rules the world. People need some fresh air to forget their misery!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Words from a brave observer, the scent of hope...awesome!