Loneliness is when a single string on a harp
Is ashamed by its "foul" noise
And never caressed by a jovial heart.
All refuse to receive the suppressed grace of its voice
As we swiftly shun the awkward string apart
From us like boys who discard broken toys.
But that string reveals radiance, though its tune sounds dark.
It's because that unique voice generates a poetic poise
To possessors of mental patterns that pierce into different parks.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem