gentle sands falling
silently through my fingertips,
blowing dandelion style in the
swaying
breeze from tomorrow;
the hourglass tips
rocking back and forth and
here
i
am,
fumbling around blurred edges,
pressing smeared fingertips against
the lining of my own charade.
i am pantomiming
with all the might i possess
but
you won't understand and
sleep is nigh upon me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
gentle sands falling silently through my fingertips, blowing dandelion style in the swaying breeze from tomorrow; the hourglass tips I loved this poem, especially the above wordings...