Translating cuts me deep
Bleeding
Spreading on table tops translucent red
I, in haste, ask myself how to feel
But receive no response
No shake
No stir
Nothing
I am alone, with nowhere to go
So I ask again
But another voice answers
In a tongue I cannot recognize
And the energy that I had last week
Has gone away
The mystery of communication
Eludes me
So I am left observing
Seeing
Judging while breathing
TV's blare
As workers rise before five
People laugh
As windows are washed
By women with backs bent forever
Hours trickle in the eyes of every orphan
As the rules of the streets
Be it Cobble
Stone
Muddy
Or *****
Hold rules as deep as ancient wells
The first time may be the last opportunity
Because the human mind works in evil ways
The glare that may feel like wholesome stares
Is in fact ugly
And compliments that rest sweet on received' shoulders
Will soon wilt
From the lack of self-sufficient sun
I heard once
"Create nothing, for it will be judged, misconstrued and beaten to death...there is nothing one can do about that fact"
But I only listen to optimistic flares,
How about you?