Too many reasons for pounding fists and my heart
left stranded on the catwalk, calling
names engraved like looking glass nostalgia
faced with sudden teardrops, falling.
Too many demands made under threat of silence
like a crack of gunfire through dark empty streets;
recurring nights spent a demoralized hostage
begging hard beneath the sheets.
Too many dreams saddled upon such slender wings
exposed like the solitary scarecrow
to inclement weather, futile endeavor.
Too many words caught in the bomblast, my friend.
And I, lured to middle ground, must heed a sympathetic Sun,
must bathe beneath its rousing warmth
before the final chilling curfew
has begun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem