Alone each day, I cried again
The lonely words coming out in a mist
I listen to the resounding claim,
And stood there wringing my wrist.
All the ties have cut off my soul and heart
I am afloat, but drifting with the empty tub.
The yearning flesh for work contorted,
With the quiet flow of melancholy flood.
A breaking noise diffuse the icy air
With an idea played in softly tune
Dispel the swollen mood out of the atmosphere
Casting the blues down into the gloom.
Staring at the waning fate
With only self to turn and shut the gate.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem