Singing tunes of death and sorrow, heart flowing with the
tears, downstream.
Allowing music to fulfill the loneliness felt deep within,
afraid to put into words a cause or reason of misery
hiding mysteriously in depths of a being.
Sandwiched tightly in hands of clay which mold themselves
to inner weeping, strangling, yet protecting, this fragile
soul of little worth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem