we cannot really help but mind
the little things
a falling leaf for instance
or a butterfly fluttering
riding upon a ray of light
and finally hovering upon a
petal, inserting its proboscis
to sip the much needed nectar,
you may remember how tired
we were as we stand by the railing
of a house, a veranda overlooking
a vineyard, and i hold upon a glass
of dry wine, and i look at you,
with such a short gaze, afraid that
you too may notice my much kept
and well concealed loneliness.
i too cannot help but mind the
little things in you, same sadness
perhaps, as you sit on the sofa,
and made a selfie shot perhaps
to keep the self also intact.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem