Topics of importance don't concern me when I'm in a certain
mood.
Today, my mind and soul are filled only with a tight-fisted
little sadness.
Again, soon, I will be in a situation I don't want to be in.
Interior serenity is disturbed, is a little apprehensive of
what is soon to come about.
Slowly grasping at straws, clutching only thin air, because
I am not quick enough.
Exhaustingly forlorn, sitting at a wayside contour of life,
considering what, if anything, I am doing in the near future
to make me happy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem