The Streets Are Narrow Like Golden Threads by Maid Corbic

New places are in this tiny street

What thieves and vagabonds walk

No one wants to stay alive here anymore.

And I’m afraid about what will happen to me.

Because I am so young and immature

I’m not ready to hang out on this street anymore.

Not a single possible second because I’m creating trouble for myself.

Maybe it’s better if I step away from it all.

I’m looking for my place somewhere else.

It’s too late for him.

And my bitter remorse

The place is sweating after many years of existence

Who is there in that street? So it is possible

That only a tramp like me stays until dawn

As the sun gently caresses his hair

I still think someone else is involved.

And maybe it’s all a matter of illusion of life.

But I am angry that every day is a joy.

If I continue to treat the street with respect

No matter how she drove me away

Without the slightest welcome

Of course, I’m sneezing at the whole world again.

Because I have nowhere to live, and the street is small

Investigators are investigating.

Manhattan is a dangerous place to live.

If it’s America, I’m honoured.

I deserve to live a better life.

The troubles in the city are getting closer and closer to me.

I’m not someone who wants to get into them.

Because I think my fasting can

To overpower everyone else around me

Maybe it’s just up to me and my attitude.

Yes, people have become weird today.

But the streets are still black and lonely.

Because everyone runs where it’s better.

And murders happen and it hurts my dreamy eyes!

Maid Corbic from Tuzla, 22 years old. In his spare time, he writes poetry that has been praised on several occasions, as well as awarded. He also selflessly helps others around him, and is the moderator of the WLFPH (World Literature Forum Peace and Humanity) for unity and world peace in Bhutan. He is also the editor of the portal of the First Virtual Art Universe.

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