it's our laughter that
bound us;
the moment of camaraderie
new friendship being born
unsure whether this'll be thorn
or storm
and i sat there, torn
unsure where to go from here
a welcoming clasp
palm on palm, fingers
coiled around one another
a peace treaty, a clap of agreement
a silent pact between us
" i gotchu"
a " thank you"
a smile here
a couple more there
am offer for selfless help
and pride in me
pride in you
teamwork.
teamwork,
that forged out friendship
and i thank you
for all your help
all of it.

I’m forgetting the touch of palm
I’m forgetting touch of human
I’m forgetting the power of touch
I’m forgetting touch of will

only living is living inside closed doors
only living is living with hands washed long
only living is living within limits of the walls

For on the surface is always served living cell(virus).

I’m trying reflection flat and clean on surface,
I’m trying new doors and windows to be locked and sealed
I’m trying for things to not change much yet, it's being months and years I haven’t, purlieu and talk a lot.

I sit home just to tell something and I’m not so excited
Because I have a worry, with a trace returning with every cough,
just like something might happen and it's as bad as it is the feeling
that if I stay with you, you will die.

In my entire life, It pains me to imagine-Living with the Living Cell(VIRUS)

Das Lied des Bettlers (“The Beggar’s Song”)
by Rainer Maria Rilke
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I live outside your gates,
exposed to the rain, exposed to the sun;
sometimes I’ll cradle my right ear in my right palm;
then when I speak my voice sounds strange, alien ...

I'm unsure whose voice I’m hearing:
mine or yours.
I implore a trifle;
the poets cry for more.

Sometimes I cover both eyes
and my face disappears;
there it lies heavy in my hands
looking peaceful, unafraid,
so that no one would ever think
I have no place to lay my head.

Originally published by Better Than Starbucks (where it was a featured poem, appeared on the first page of the online version, and earned a small honorarium)

Original text:

Das Lied des Bettlers

Ich gehe immer von Tor zu Tor,
verregnet und verbrannt;
auf einmal leg ich mein rechtes Ohr
in meine rechte Hand.
Dann kommt mir meine Stimme vor,
als hätt ich sie nie gekannt.

Dann weiß ich nicht sicher, wer da schreit,
ich oder irgendwer.
Ich schreie um eine Kleinigkeit.
Die Dichter schrein um mehr.

Und endlich mach ich noch mein Gesicht
mit beiden Augen zu;
wie's dann in der Hand liegt mit seinem Gewicht
sieht es fast aus wie Ruh.
Damit sie nicht meinen ich hätte nicht,
wohin ich mein Haupt tu.

Keywords/Tags: German, Rainer Maria Rilke, translation, beggar, song, rain, sun, ear, palm, voice, gate, gates, door, doors, outside, exposure, poets, trifle, pittance, eyes, face, cradle, head, loneliness, alienation, solitude, no place to lay one's head (like Jesus Christ)

what wonders exist,
                    i imagine,
                            behind your eyes?

what wonders exist
                       in
          the palm of your hand?

                        it would be miraculous
          if those wonders
                                       felt
                        anything
                 like
your lips.

there is beauty and peace in palm trees
as there is loneliness in a summer garden.