Delving into memory's storage boxes, searching for ideas,
reciting old poetry.
Mixed together with piles of faded images, selecting and
choosing certain thoughts is, at times, very difficult.
Wandering the long, black hallways with a flashlight,
leaves a lot to be desired.
Only certain things come to mind as they are illuminated,
the rest is encased and written from a capsule of
unconsciousness.
Knowing the differences of nightmare pastimes, does little
for emotional ties bound back then.
Counting steps silently, hesitating sometimes, searching
for bearings to find the way through life and it's
anxieties.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem