inside that cheap apartment
you sit on the chair facing a dining table
a bowl of oatmeal
a cup of coffee
three asparagus sticks
sea noodle cup ready for lunch
crackers and biscuits for dinner
Mozart is played as you look beyond
the glass doors and windows facing
a clean sheet of snow covering the path
leading to the gate and the road
on the other side of the house
Facebook is open
and you just take a peek on those that dropp by
and say hello
you write a line saying,
'dear friend i am editing some pictures...'
taken last night at the party and you will be emailing
some of the happy pictures back home
those with the smiles of the big snowman
it is another lonely night
you want to kill yourself but you just
can't because some people who love you
wait for you back home
as you promised
'whew! The pictures are simply out of focus! '
your hands keep
busy
always on some other things
to keep them out from
that barren desert
'Cool! ' you make a comment on the Friendster picture
of a friend hugging a new boyfriend in Hongkong.
It is so cold. It is so lonely.
But it does not kill you somehow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem