Tight wrinkles form around,
The corners of,
Clinched pupils,
With cynicism,
Folded in the deep creases,
Eyes that once gleamed,
Hope and accomplishment,
Dreams not nightmares,
Now are dusty glass windows,
Of an empty aged house,
Like heavy opaque marbles,
They hang,
With the glazed reflection,
Of stained indifference,
Dark exotic eyes,
Of confident direction,
Have faded to gray wash,
Solemn and empty,
Laced with constricting,
Red vessels,
Sleepless,
They lead nowhere,
They are set upon,
A painting,
Of a ship in the water,
Hanging on the hospital wall,
A ship that mocks,
The hopes,
Of youth,
Hopes,
Existing only,
On the decks,
Of a tiny ship,
That just now,
Set sail,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem