I am waiting for the bus
Wasting time
I am not reading
I am not thinking
About what to write-
I am not doing
Anything useful-
Random thoughts
Random perceptions
Random feelings
And I don't mind
I don't mind wasting time-
All these years of not wasting time
What has it given me?
All these years of rushing to write
And what does my writing mean to anyone?
A few more minutes
A few more hours
In this long life
Will not change anything
It is as if it is at last alright
To not have to make time useful
To waste time
And not feel guilty
For now.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It means a lot to me my friend.