People write poetry
read poetry
in words.
But for me
its the little squiggles
the dots and dashes
that speak eloquently
The, it speaks softly
A lull between moments
A pause between what has been said and the yet unsaid
The past and the future
The; confuses
Cramming too much into its life
two thoughts joined
a silence misused often
The ' ' elate me
I see someones soul
touch a person
feel their being
The? makes me laugh
why yet another
in a world full of questions
full of the unknown
The @ reeks of today
of mindless net-working
of addresses in the void
people with masks
The! excites
something amazing
breaking the monotony
of a humdrum page.
The: -) type smiles
remind me of children
their simplicity
not their innocence.
The. frightens
It is the end
of thought and being
it is Death
.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem