This Hell men call life
Is like a vision fold blind
That I sought much to find...
So if freedom be maid, wife
I dream too to stay alive...
Smile has lost the road to this land
And chains of life now hurts on hand
You are well favoured, so can't strife.
Was it a hard way, Bill Gate
Was it hard that I may?
I too feel the faithful forest of Lost
So if death be the safest gate,
out whereso'er that I may.
Of what is ageing like a blown dust?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem