Under the lamplight glare
I sup the yellow potion,
Knees to chest in chair.
The only things in motion
Are the moths bumping shoulders
Intent on going blind.
The flame gently smoulders.
I’m beginning to unwind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It blends your central nervous system, dancing in the air.Nice rendition Ijanric.