Some days,
The road’s end can’t be seen,
Some days,
You’re at it.
Some days the razors drawn,
And you’re staring in the mirror, and
Some days,
You’re staring at the world.
And some days you’re disillusioned
love drunk, or hating,
Sober,
Reality.
But,
only sometimes
You’re in the middle,
Each extreme obviously absurd,
By then,
Though, it’s too late, and you’ve fallen.
Fallen to complacency, of a bad memory,
to Curiosity’s transparent dress.
Now you’re caught like a hypocrite,
Scratching like a beast for the post,
For the wire,
For liberty,
For justice, for the balance of desire,
For things you’ve given up,
And people you’ve let down,
And now you’re alone,
Justly alone.
But also,
now you understand,
And are a hypocrite,
Just like me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem