Deep down through all the anguish, hurt lies with sorrow,
crying, wishing for a life to have some joy and happiness,
living like a nomad in the desert sands.
Held within themselves their love and talent lies hidden
in a tent, afraid to venture forth and mingle with the
crowds, instead dying slowly beneath self-hate.
Falling steadily into the depths of non-returning life,
sleeping with the kiss of death beneath a pillow.
Deep down through all the anguish, hurt dies, becoming
sorrow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A perfect description of the the mental condition of a peron who is under deep depression because of melancholy.