This-is-a song-of-sorrows past
singing the same tune,
the same sour notes
The same mournful restless melody,
hoping this time, it will somehow
stay and become your final last dance.
This old music sheet is dead in its ashes.
It needs a lot of kindling, but don't
support its useless noise.
As hard as it is to believe
the sound settings are yours to control.
Sometimes you must plug cotton wads into your ears.
You must set these sirens moaning off course.
And listen for a piece of better music
living in the moment like mornings birdsong.
The warblings of a blackbird trilling love alarms.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem