Ravaged of the setting sun,
Left to breathe,
What others have already breathed,
And died,
Doing so,
So that we like,
Them left alone,
May stuggle impossibly,
To emancipate ourselves,
From ourselves,
While we die slowly,
And our memory turns to chalky dust.
it's really better that our memory turns to chalky dust because if it won't it will hurt our loved ones if there is any loved ones.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
stuggle impossibly, To emancipate ourselves, From ourselves, While we die slowly, And our memory turns to chalky dust. - - - - that was powerful