I traveled the world,
so wide, so cruel.
Everyone seems
to have a different issue.
No one listens, everyone runs.
Why am I here? Why do I do this?
I try to help, but who helps me?
I'm all by myself, my poor soul screams.
I still try to fly
somewhere up in the sky.
But a bird with broken wings
hardly ever flies,
and the more it bleeds.
It is hard, too hard,
to live in such a world,
where nothing else matters
but to be and stay cruel.
A refined poetic imagination, Brigitte. You may like to read my poem, Love And Iust. Thank you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
So honest and true! Love it!