Flat,
Like a white sheet,
Or an outdoor mat,
Indifference sets in,
A moody spat with yourself,
Hardly reacts,
Nothing seems to count,
Except disillusionment,
And you don't want to accept,
The realization that,
Nothing or no one to love,
Projects a transparent image,
Of emptiness,
That you can't pick up.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
YOU think you don't have anyone to love... but YOUR READERS love you- why don't you just love us back?