The journey is too long and heavy
slow tread, trembling,
with crossroads and detour,
I find myself a sinking star
on the isle of wild blue yonder.…
I bleed as I tread through
the sharp stones on my swollen creeks.
Demons laugh, I ignore,
the world is too small for its deceptive lanes.
Death mean it, but not to yield to,
for the purpose hold its beacon high
and swing to and fro as the path narrows.,
I read myself, but it little profits me,
as my vaulted wishes cry for mercy.
Life seems so meaningless,
as I try to swim on swamp.
Where am I now
And my distant cloud who wrap me warm?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A haunting poem. Nicely done, deepa
Thank You Kelly