My greatest fear is that the final words I emit will be, 'I'm confused.'
It's a tragedy to me that not only is this scenario possible; but it's beginning to take on the formation of absolute certainty.
The years I've spent in this world violently envelope me in a fierce whirlwind that others have ridiculously termed 'life.'
It's rather fitting that I can't understand their wise sayings... those inspiring quotes regarding how the world works, for the howls of the wind are far more convincing of my fate than the words of a know-it-all caught up in a storm of their own.
It won't be long before your self-proclaimed knowledge is whisked away into a neverending gray.
What will you hold on to then?
What will you clutch with everything you have, once everything you know is gone?
When the storm clears, you'll find yourself in a wasteland with no direction.
When the storm clears, truth will sink in.
And there will be nothing you can do about it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I hate to say this, but you are right. All those comments made by others about you can't possibly make sense to you, because they are caught up in their own stor. (What a wonderful image-I had not thought of it that way.) You seem to have one thing going for you-you test what people say against your own judgment and experience and draw your own conclusions-that will bring you clarify faster and more surely than anything else.