As I walk through a place of rest
in morbid solitude,
a chill goes down my spine
for an answer I must find.
In front of me lies a closed grave,
on the tombstone my name is paved.
Am I dead,
am I a lost soul
cast into an eternal hell
of restless beings
with no shape or form
to call our own.
Or is it just a dream
of what will happen to me
I cannot tell.
Is this my place after death
to live in the restlessness
outside the gates of hell?
Date unknown (probably the late 1960’s)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem