I am often asked,
Asked quietly by myself
While the dark trembles
Like the cold expectant thing
It is - I am asked
If I feel guilty
Staying home
While so many went.
I let the dark answer for me,
Swallowing my every fear,
Regurgitating each in turn
In my dreams:
I feel no guilt, only sorrow,
Sorrow
That they went they knew
And went
And always go.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem