By Thomas Page
This is a series of poems of words that do not directly translate into English. I have tried to capture the essence of the word in a poem.
The ticks of a tock slow down to a mockery,
The ebbs of a flow slow down to a disappointment,
The pushes of a pull thrust you into a place not quite here, not quite there.
The coffee bitters
The milk curdles
The sugar rests unfazed by spoon mocks the ceremony of the morning
You don’t know whether to sigh or yell
But something has to change for the better
Before the sun is dyed the night time sky’s blue.