Silently sacrificing throughout life, giving everything I
have within me.
Yet, getting nothing in return for all the trouble and
caring given to another.
Wondering if I should just give it up and become like the
rest in life, selfish and uncaring at every turn of the
second hand on the kitchen clock.
Sensing forbidden tones, knowing that I never could be
any way except the compassionate caring loving person that
I have become from the moment of my birth, sixty-three years
ago.
Waiting incessantly for a symbol of something to validate
what I do, now recognizing that there needs to be none,
because what I do is straight from the heart and needs
nothing in return from anyone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem