No matter how hard he tries
To believe his lies,
He'll remain, always, alone;
Apart from friends, the Air, and self:
Apart for feeling alone.
Sometimes he looks hurt
In his fading shirts.
They've witnessed: many rains,
Too many hurts, too many pains.
He's many shirts. He's many stains.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem