Trampled on by a day of evil
I lay on these thorns of despair
Shutting down, I’ve had enough
Wanting little to do with people
I shall gaze at life from the outside
No fame, few friends
No pretense, I’m done making a splash
Hear the wind gust like two centuries ago
Give me some pen and paper
I’ll keep in touch like J D Salinger
Posthumously yours
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem