Back, back again to that room,
I've been many times before.
The sensation has substantially changed.
Scoping this colorless pasty space
the walls conceal an unknown secret.
Lights are fluttering
it's as though they can feel my chest sprint with every tick of the clock.
Trying to disreguard the most prominent corner,
there is a resonance, a hum, and then silence.
Footsteps hustle across dirty tiled floors,
as his presence consumes my mind.
I only make it look like it's not hard to breathe.
I am a brushfire amidst a windstorm,
and he is fully unaware of my compassion.
Wishing I could evacuate my body
the room becomes cold.
A draft blows about this gathering place,
sweeping across each crevice, taking my confidence along.
I start gazing at a black and white piece of paper
paying no attention to his very being,
although I see his profile just past the page,
wondering if he can see right through me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem