Whispering sweet nothings, but no one hears them for
love has not visited yet, years have been lived alone,
nothing stopping to take a heart into throes of love.
Alone, saddened, yet going on, living, spending time
on the road of life, becoming a person only loneliness
can abide in.
An untidy sense of being, sitting on the sidelines,
wondering where love can be, because it has never
visited here yet.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem