I lived life through anothers heart,
But never looked out of their eyes;
But one day truth, the mirror told:
That it was only useless lies.
If loneliness is what you own,
You must take it, brain and bone-
For taking just the flowered heads,
You leave the living plant, still dead.
I lived life through anothers heart;
The days that mine, I counted less,
But it's a feeble mind, I think
That dallies, rather than confess.
I will not play the willful game,
Taking others earned play-things;
So you must take back what I owe:
The mortgage was an under-tow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem