i shall pretend that no one is deceived
myself included,
for what is my reason for being here?
you know it
it is not you, but the rest of those who cannot speak
about their sorrows
you deceive us, we shall not measure time for how long
we shall not whisper about the harshness of your winters
we have our own droughts to paint
and we are painting it so well so the world can see and perhaps
soon
shall reflect upon it that...
we who are innocent about our comings and goings
we who are blinded by the moments
do not deserve all these
i do not listen to your laughter
my ears are never made for you
i shall not feel you
my hands are made for more than what
your kind of materialistic stuff
can hold or contain
you shall continue deceiving us until you shall learn from us
and when you stop
we shall shall move on with our journey
until you join us
sailing in the rivers of our own sorrows
for we are made of grief, for we are all but sorrows ourselves
soon,
perhaps, we shall be one in all these
always deceived always persistent always patient
always longing
for that moment
always a common fate.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem