no voice prints, no footsteps,
still doubt if you exist -
other inhabitants of the fourth dimention
know how weird my heart is,
how sad, how terribly arrythmical -
when it's time to stop hoping
and start living -
but it's not a matter of living,
rather of survival -
thinking of you as a star
or a minor scale.
read it again: if you still doubt
if I exist, too, - don't look at my
marginal land, it might hurt you,
such-starving-eyes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem