Some ball themselves up into knots,
When confronted with nonstopping disbeliefs.
Regrets overwhelming become unbearable.
And they rather do their secret weeping,
Alone.
Others not so shocked can not stop,
And have to get up and leave...
That which comes to try to block,
To places they go temporarily to relieve...
That which has grown too familiar to keep,
Dragging them of sorrows with unpromised tomorrows.
Everything they've got to stop a knocking,
Of a world they prefer.
With visits for tears to drip...
Is not not on their priority list.
And find they do that they can let go,
To what they can't hold onto to control.
Because they have a life to live.
The way that it is.
And for them this is not mysterious.
Because they have a life as it is to live,
And it has never been for them a blueprint...
To analyze without a living of it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem