The lessons I have learned I'm still trying to confirm,
through the fog of my mistakes that cling tight to all I make.
But with the fog of inebriation lifting, I now see what I've been missing,
that the potential I so treasured was the potential that I severed.
There's nothing one can do to rectify a past misused,
but calling a ghost imaginary doesn't make it any less scary.
Is it that activities I once pursued are always bound to make me blue?
Or that the things you do with abandon are bound to abandon you?
One can't be happy with others until they're happy for others.
And no one admires anyone else
who puts blame for his problems outside of himself.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem