What goes through
The silence of their minds?
The faces, the bodies
Around me-
Do they feel? Can they sense?
What goes on inside
Their lockbox minds,
As they move through their daily habits?
What do they, the cold, feel?
What do they, the dead, think?
I cannot bear their touch-
It chills the marrow of my bones,
It freezes the blood of my veins.
I cannot feel, cannot sense them.
I cannot hear their thoughts.
Do they think?
What could they think?
What do the dead think?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem