Where is my mind?
Where has it gone?
Like a leaf pushed by wind,
it has traveled the earth.
It has become a part of the hated,
and now makes it a part of me.
Do I deserve to die under a December moon?
O mist! Cover me forever.
O tombstone of mine, do you now wither?
Weeping willows, receive me with open arms!
A shadow that died has sprung to life,
and now he's back to claim his haunt.
I'm sick of saying sorry,
repeating, repeating in my head.
My mind, trivial is its story.
You must be sick and I dead.
Some compulsions exit, and some never stray the mind is only living if you feed it every day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You have excellent word choice, imagery, flow, ryme scheme and message. It held my attention and I liked it very much. I give it a rating of 8.