Do men sing to themselves?
Are their emotions
As strong as mine?
Do they throw themselves,
With wide-eyed innocence,
Into love?
Do their hearts inflate with excitement?
Do their lungs feel heavy with grief?
Or is it only an appearance,
Exaggerated by strong words
And raised eyebrows?
If there were only one man in the world
Who sang to himself,
Hope might be kept,
Like a glowing coal
Buried in the ashes.
I no longer believe men are poets.
No, I have never believed it.
Will not someone
Prove me wrong?
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