Broken air,
I breathe in,
Never does it satisfy,
Leaves me to wonder,
What’s outside this island,
With its worn sand,
And same sunset,
Old waves,
Familiar patterns,
The same side of the sky,
Sad rain,
That falls to discover,
Nothing has changed here,
The people never grow,
Or age with laughter,
The wind never whispers new secrets,
Or tells of another world,
The unchanging stories,
Of a land pass the edge,
Have long been forgotten,
Pushed aside like fantasy,
Children haven’t ever dreamed,
Or believe in what they cannot see,
There are never more then three types,
Three types of everything,
There is never just living in the moment,
Or enjoying what you have,
Planes never fly,
Fly over this land,
Old birds never leave,
And new ones never come,
On this lonely, old island.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem