I sat there watching
Without eyelids batting
Timeless eternal witness
My boy is out there
A tot running up and down
The difficult stairs of dream and wake
Falling hither and thither
His punched nose bleeding
Bruised all over everywhere
Tears flowing down his cheeks
Screaming, hollering
Ascending, descending
Rolling in dirt, at times
Thumping his chest
Growling like an African ape
Can anyone describe his grief
The escapades of his ego
That sulks refusing to accept, forego
Fighting with the monsters of a nightmare
Called life by everyone everywhere?
The poor boy fighting day and night
Gruesome battles without respite
Yet, he would return when tired outright
To my lap white as it is
Ever inviting, without a blemish
I sat there waiting for him to arrive
Repose and forget his worries
Dissolve and vanish into my vastness
Like thundering lightnings that die into the skies
I sat there a whiteness unbound
Silence! the boy is asleep sound
The poor thing is no more twain
Once again, before the spasm begins in the morn again
by seeing the topics and reviewing the poem a bit more, i guess i get is, sort of, except for the white and whiteness parts. bri (:
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
i see now that 1/2 a year ago i had a typo in my comment! " i get it" , not " i get is" ! ! ! bri :)