'Maybe later she will see me,
And Glide towards my blushed cheeks.
Perhaps her grace will humble us all,
And my rosy complexion will eventually fade.
She doesn't know how strong she is,
Always being told that it would never be enough.
All of them are wrong.
Blinded by the perfection standing before them.
Selfish words spill over their lips,
Just as gentle whispers flow over her own.
She may not know I'm there beside her,
Gazing, through crowds in awe of her beauty.
Patience lingers behind me,
Becoming my savior at moments such as these.
One day she will glide my way,
And I will turn her whispers into poetry,
A language all our own.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem