so somewhere
between a glass of wine
and two, I lost my sleep
I lost my nonchalant sleep
good riddance, I would say
for it does more harm than
rest my restless soul
by tossing vivid images of
her floating hair
and her fickle glance
in a dream filled with
her words that hurt my
broken jaw bone
I look back
I realise missing words
somewhere
there should have been a dream
and possibly a broken heart
but the pain does not care
if it hurt my bone or my flesh
or my soul
nor does my soul care
if it can toss my body
for one ounce of sleep
nor do I care
till I have my glass of wine
and I can convert it into two
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem