It has a name, it's quite well known,
But it's not one I've embraced.
Just like a word chiseled in stone
It can never be erased.
It haunts my thoughts, it irks my mind,
I run but I can't break free.
I look and search but all I find
Is depression and pity.
It never nods, it doesn't sleep,
It cannot be sold or paid.
It cuts just a little too deep
For the pain to ever fade.
I know others have it far worse,
I shouldn't fret or complain
But to me this is a sore curse
Which will forever remain.
I feel worn like a flag at sea
Shredded and hanging with shame.
My disease has defeated me
But I will not say it's name.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Is depression and pity! Thanks for sharing.