There is nothing wrong
With my life,
But then again,
Not much is right.
Maybe it's the way I dress -
Perhaps my careless smile.
I've been frowning - I must confess
And I think I will be for a while.
The lightness of my step
As I walked carefree
Is now a march
Of hesitancy.
I do admit I haven't cried
But are tears the only evidence?
My eyes are witness to the inside,
Where lagoons disclose with eloquence.
I will try again, dear happiness, someday;
Till then, melancholy - to your dismay.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem