Sunday flew over me
Locking my feet to the ground
Absence of direction
Intention of connection
Allowing for all
Escaping from none
Dismissed but held
A hostage of the heart
Feeble and Frail
That cannot feel the urge
To move alone
Waiting for Monday sun
Routine freeing me
To a contented level
Of familiar discontent
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem