I think, how words change,
meanings and forms.
Once I asked her, how
the moon got this big burn in its face,
she corrected me,
not a burn, it’s a rabbit, silly.
Now I sit,
listening to the ocean roar,
I think, trying to impress?
The lady with the big burn in the face,
once told me,
not of how she got the burn,
but how she could fly.
I remember flying over the city,
over the lush forest, where
elephants roamed, and
rabbits died from the adrenalin rush
that comes at the precise moment when
You know, beyond all doubt that
this is it... this is the end.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem