Clouds spin around my mind.
They disorient me, and I cannot clearly think.
To them, my brain is wine;
They do not hesitate to drink.
Then, when they have had enough,
They take to the sky.
Little droplets of my brain fall to the Earth,
Vanishing into cracks for me to never find.
Just when I start to think clearly,
Just when I start to think everything will be okay,
More clouds come
To soak up my brain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem