I dreamed over and over again,
of incapable me to hold the load,
of drunk me,
after swallowing down the potion of illusion,
talking nonsense by now,
tripping over and over again
and then it goes around,
something hymning in my vicinity,
the slight whispers,
drumming in my ears,
making me feel half-dead,
I silently scream,
harder and harder,
the silent hisses,
killing my soul,
harder and harder,
I open my curtains,
the wind tossing my hair,
harder and harder,
and what they say: she has gone mad,
looking at the sky,
listening to the wind,
but I know this is my path to be the warrior,
And just when the windows whisper,
I stare, I sigh,
When they turn more noisier,
I stare, I cry,
When they stop in the end,
I know its a goodbye,
How can I be a warrior when the whispering windows,
hymn my failure over and over again?
I look down and weep for I have lost the potential to look at me, while I cry.
9/1/11
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
no words can describe that & u................=D