Sitting in the club,
Watching people drink,
Hoping their problems go,
Go away with the noise.
But with pounding headache,
They awake.
Their sad thoughts come rushing,
As a torrent of rain.
And maybe,
I think to myself,
They won't come back again.
But alas,
Here they are seated, drinking.
And I wonder why.
And one said,
'I got wasted cause
I didn't want to deal with myself tonight...'
Ebube
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem