this woman is beginning
to grow white hair
her hands are rough and the skin there
are loosing from the
fingers like
hand gloves made of
cloth
she has to wear sunglasses
even during the rainy seasons when the skies are gray
when the world is too cold
and the parks are
empty
where she finds herself alone
strolling under those
old trees
she is losing touch
of other people who seems not to see her
her presence disregarded
to hide her disappointments
she goes to the mall and buys things that she does not like
a matter of compulsion-obsession
pulling and pushing her from one corner
to another
quite a pity
she feels miserable and people avoid miserable people
they think
that misery is contagious
and who wants misery?
i am intimately involved with this woman
more in the line of pity
more on the aspect of empathy
there are many things that i must tell her
but it will not be for now
scattered atoms inside a glass of muddy water
need a little settling before one must describe to her
what really happened and what to do next
who knows? perhaps i really love her.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem