Filled with turmoil brought on by age, saturated in it's ugly
presence, caught in it's tumultuous maze.
Unaware of the world, a silence filled with pain lives within,
never looking beyond points of emptiness returning.
Alive, pounding rhythms of unlicensed sadness, held onto with
unprecedented sorrow.
This world has no recompense, all is lost from the first moment
of birth.
Constantly aware of life's facets and figures, calculating where
one can finally fit in - seeing at last that there is no place
of belonging.
All of life is merely temporary, a quiet place of unceasing
struggle, unrelenting to the end.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem