2nyt when we sleep
with our backs against each other
our bottoms not really
meeting
i will see to it that
i shall become
the winner of this coldest
war of my life
i shall not face you with hate
i shall
curl my body in my indifference
i will hold tight on my pillow
and set my mind high in the air like a big butterfly
kite
for me to fly away
I'll cut the string with my teeth
so i can become
a hawk
with my wings now i shall soar higher
than the cliffs
of your
numbness
(or even your
betrayal)
perhaps, with this distance
this height
and this extreme coldness of the mountain peaks
i may now be prepared to finally see
that
hidden truth
on the arid plains.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem