A Tanka Prose
loneliness
stoking the hidden fear
of myself -
in a crowded party
I smoke my first weed
A pool of sunlight on the empty side of my bed. I wake up half sober, half drunk.
In the corner of my mind stands a jukebox singing "O Canada! Our home and native land! "
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem