this came to me
when i have so many things to do
and i do not know where
to start
you arrive at the point when
i am numb and senseless
but we try to manage somehow
we are normal and alive
the ugliness is not well arranged
which could have been done by the
skills of art and contained emotions
when beauty came the door already
closed itself for the much needed sleep
and you make dreams as tools as you
claim something spiritual in you
mist in my eyes, sweat to my brow,
scar of my heart, parasite to my skin.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem