i always find myself
going back
to where i am, on early
mornings, i promise
myself a brand new
beginning, a place where
i shall find myself
exciting, on a new venture
away from here, but i am
always at a loss
the irony of going far away
and not arriving
at what i perceived is my own place, and so
here i am again
watching same shame in the mirror
gazing at my own eyes
shocked that i have never changed,
regrets nesting in my head
lustful eggs hatching
in same shape of sinfulness
i wait until i am
to ash begotten.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem