It is this interest in the
now
in the
noise
In the ripple of the concrete splash
As the stone is dropped
in a running river
It is not the tomorrow or even the tonight
Of our wishes that is making me live,
In fact our wishes about another nice evening
In the garden’s candle lighted dinner
Is what makes me leave, that will be too much
Honesty for me, it is the life of my lies
That supplies blood to the veins of my existence
I do not have life since then, living has been so
Miserable, your touch is pain, your gaze is pain,
Your asking me how am I, is causing me pain,
I am not true to you, I am not yours anymore,
It is pain, it is this pain, that must decide,
To live like a coward or die once like a brave man
I am a shameless man, and you are too honest.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem