I have no reason to let my eyelashes dampen.
I have no reason to exhale a ghost of sorrow.
This is a season of joy, blooming,
My heart’s song should echo.
Reverberating, bouncing off the pale walls of this cage I call my mind.
I have no reason to mourn,
No hole has been dug in my tree of connections and outreaches.
No segments of joy have been ripped from my roots.
Yet the melody of soul,
Sounds faint.
Dry and empty.
A void, glazed look shines in my deep brown irises.
The ghost of an unknown embrace hangs dead around me.
My mind hangs on to memories of events un-occurred.
Smiles un-shone,
Tears un-cried,
Feelings unfelt.
I undo my mistakes, and leave my slate on the mahogany table.
Empty, clean, void.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
'I undo my mistakes, and leave my slate on the mahogany table. Empty, clean, void.' Tabula rasa, the Latin concept of the blank slate the mind as a blank slate, 'Empty, clean, void.' pure potentiality actualized through experience human intellect socially constructed comes to know