I’m contemplating
Scratches on my laptop lid,
And the childhood scar on my hand,
And the wrinkles lining my face.
I’m listening to
Trickle from the leaking tap,
And the rain I danced in as a girl,
And the teardrops falling with a thud.
I’m smelling
Withered flowers’ sweet decay,
And the perfume that he used to like,
And the ashes of the letters burnt.
I’m thinking of
Self-sufficiency
And the weather forecast:
Sunshine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
And the perfume that he used to like, And the ashes of the letters burnt. I’m thinking of Self-sufficiency awesome... I can actually picture it :)