It stole all my gifts
My soul, my passion, my love
Now everything is lower than the sea
So lower than should be, it is lower than me
I bleed the sadness like a willow tree
I scream, I scream, I scream
What is singing for?
If I am without melodies
What is dreaming for?
If I have only broken dreams
The passion from my life has died
Fiery hatred is born
I can feel the contempt arise
While, my holiness is scorned
I can feel the truth subside
For lying is a lure
I can see the darkest side
It seems so clean and pure
Seems as if my destruction is the cure
From all that I endure
I can feel my soul in rage
Urging to let its voice escape
Looking for another way
To fight the pain
Yes, this evil is insane
To kill the life I never had
Steal my love, my good, and made it bad
How dare this immorality?
Every day for it astray
All my love and pride away
I scream, I scream, I scream
what is winning when I am losing everything
What is liking for when I cannot like anything
How can it be? I cannot make of it
though; it’s made of me internally
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It's a good poem, liked it. 'I bleed the sadness like a willow tree I scream, I scream, I scream' - Touchy! 'The passion from my life has died Fiery hatred is born I can feel the contempt arise While, my holiness is scorned' - Good expression!