Living in an interior hell, not wishing to look about,
wanting nothing to do with life right now, wandering
throughout thoughts, lilting around in music and rhythm.
Becoming a recluse, wanting to isolate and not be a part
of anything today, never being subjected to whims of
others, or so I thought!
Going off alone, hiding in corners of this mind, just
wanting to write and do nothing else.
Cooperating with self, no one can impart their wishes
at all, not until I'm ready to become a part of the
environment again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem