there’s something …about
sitting in a full room hungry
(no one will ever know) …about y̶o̶u̶r̶ this
personal sensation
(not really)
…this pathetic condition
masked through learned apathy
and a miserably inadequate smile
no one will ever know
(or care) about
the turmoil of Y̶o̶u̶'̶r̶e̶ your
'your' stomach
(not really)
nor of much more
there and here
(there and here) you sit
hoping against hope
that it doesn’t
young man rumble
that while you stir
(in your chair
physical reflecting much more)
it doesn’t stir
like you (s̶i̶l̶l̶y̶ young you)
and give you away
for what you are
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem