The rain is fitting to my mood.
Maybe it will cleanse me,
wash away the the pain you gave to me
with stabs made like lightning.
I feel like I've been abandoned,
forgotten in my solitude.
Is it time to make my return
and gloriously retake the city?
Or should I remain here,
and wither in my torment?
Is this life in truth,
or a spoof made after the fact?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem