I
There is a long way I have come to shed my tears
The road that has me made, impervious to fears
But still, there is that darkness that holds my cheers,
In its hands... as it has done in all these irking years
II
And now as I sit beneath this downs of forlorn seclusion
Watching my world wriggle inside the snared apparition
Where solitude is but mine; THE lone-man in isolation…
Who stands his fears, but writhe in the pain of his isolation?
III
What worse could it be than to live with his soul deceased?
A soul, a heart with blackness clenched into a vengeful fist?
For my undying life, my melancholies, my woes yet insist
That I must keep on walking down this black road displeased
IV
The shade of gloom has come again to cloud my head
As it does always- like the bell jar that Mrs. Plath say’d
But absurdity it would seem, if such thoughts I relay’d
As it would not be understood, till I stand on my death bed
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem