We exchange glances,
like cars on the motorway,
a smirk here, a giggle there,
the brief eye contact,
the childish mess of my hair.
This is all there ever will be,
and all this will be all I hold on to,
my dreams will have to suffice,
my hopes will have to slowly die,
how hard it must be,
for a wingless bird to accept,
it may never fly.
You are not of my kind,
we part ways by fate,
we feel differences,
by cruel human creation.
This moment of clarity, seasoned with hope, neutralized by stark reality, speaks to those moments of fleeting contact experienced in a crowded lonely world. Well penned.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A beautifully crafted write