i.
After all that came upon, every morning feels heavy
left with shred, abscess, and agony
fateful moment of other boys, came along with begrudge
will he ever make a progress, elbow grease, the room is full of fog
ii.
Perhaps, we can argue that he is the blackball
that altered into human body full of blighted hope
besprinkled dreams, like Walter Mitty that falls
and there's nothing left to adhere to, other than impaired rope
iii.
he's just a boy, living in this green grass world
devoured by despair
blur distinction of mind, thoughts that twirled
achromic life filled with dejection, a destructing snare
aide-moi
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem