Tennis shoes scrape across the pavement.
The pitter-patter of busy feet,
Of busy people, doing busy things.
The footsteps fall, quick and deliberate
Everyone knowing exactly where they're going
And exactly when they will get there.
I stroll lazily in the background.
Conversations all run together,
With exception to the few, more vocal individuals.
A cell phone on every shoulder.
Music in every ear.
I sit silently in the background.
Feet keep moving,
Tounges keep conversing,
Music keeps screaming.
I sit stagnant, still, quiet, alone,
In the background.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Interesting read, I like alot. It's a shame people always yapping on their phones and closing themselves off with Ipods.