feeling sorry for yourself
for a past that cannot be undone
wading in that murky river of self-pity
like a wild bird caught on the oil spill
of the lake of desolation
my friend, that is the worst and last thing
that must happen to your life
this is the tree without fruit
a bush without a flower
a sky without sun
how can you ever imagine liking yourself to it?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem