On some nights
I take inventory of me
Like one after some long fights
After my busy bee
On these nights
My solitude deepens
Vetting the marks on my bights
And how and why it happens
They are nights I pity
Pity my neighbors
Pity my friends
Pity my kindred and children
Following the lucidity of my soul
The uncertainty of the paths
Troden by the human sole
Like dirts after baths
But this night
I librate my loneliness
To watch the fights instead of fight
To laugh at my seriousness
And my crude jokes
Until my midnight tears cease.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem