What is the silence of this long day for?
What is the inner nothingness for?
What I am for?
What is my life for?
Once there were days of meaning
And now endless time stretches before me
With nothing to do in it-
Oh to be old and useless
Is not the joy of life
But to not even be able to pretend one is doing something
This is the emptiness which is even worse.
You have written a poem. That is a success. Ten more make a successful day. Go do it, my friend who is in need of being collegiate.++10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A useless man(if there is actually a man that you can call uselss) cannot write a poem like this