I look back now at what I was,
and miss it quite, for now I am lost...
At least with naive,
things were so simple.
Complexity of feeling,
was mere but a riddle.
With growth in thought
and constant questions,
a loss of identity
can tend to happen.
What is 'me'?
I do not know.
I guess I'll wait
while I continue to grow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem