There's a statue inside of me
Weeps alabaster tears;
Sobs deeply in malachite
The forgotten years.
There's a dandelion muffler
And pale lichen mittens,
The eyes aimed at heaven
In travertine stitches.
A grey granite gown sways
On earth's trembling flanks;
Though hands are upraised,
Expression's are blank.
There's a statue inside of us
Built by those we don't know,
And we're screaming inside
While the silence just grows.
We'd pray for a stray bolt
Of lightning, to break it-
But we've been there so long,
We're afraid we can't take it.
Our feet sinking in
Till it’s up to our lips-
Then we're hailed as the ancient
Proofs, of some myths.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This poem reminds me of someone who smoked alot of cannabis. They would just sit there perfectly still stoned and grey, like a statue. I like the idea of this poem that we all have a statue within us that needs loosening up setting free, but sometimes we are better rigid.