In here, behind these eyes from which I peek,
There is no 'we', no 'us'; there's never been.
It is a place whose population's bleak -
A universe of one, a private inn.
The suite cannot be shared or visited;
It is impossible, and there's no room.
I fill it all, to ev'ry place I've spread;
I am a garden of a single bloom.
None else can sit beside and glimpse my cheek
As I look out, and down, upon my knee.
I watch my fingers give my arm a tweak,
My flesh that's me, and yet not really me.
The lone-ness of our oneness each must bear,
Because each is an I that none can share.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem