Rolling in with an irregular form
All sight is lost in this crowd I'm alone
I have it all, yet I am careless
With some form of behavior to relate to the rest
Somewhere in between Vienna and Budapest
I've lost my own keen eyed- button up vest
It's been quite some time and now its grown old
The ones all around me are blind and I'm cold
With half a chance I'd knock it away with this enmity
Damage it good for the sake of my sanity
To carry away this cloudy Stratus
and reclaim the vision for my personal status
But it keeps rolling in with an irregular form
All sight is lost in this crowd all alone
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem