A while its been, I’m afraid that’s true,
The sky remains grey, the air bleeds with monotones,
To my ringing ears that I trudge with each morn.
Do I wake only to hear afflicting moans?
Of these pissy people,
Who preach their own entitlements,
Of money, fame and wealth,
What ever happened to sincerity and love?
And not loving only yourself?
So in the monotones of yesterday,
I sat with typical thoughts,
My soul lacks inspiration,
It suffers painful droughts.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem