Drenched in sorrow, feeling very low,
wanting to disappear and become totally
invisible.
Longing for another moment in another time
and place, separating myself from the here
and now.
Knowing that life is expecting me to live,
yet pouring so many trials upon it, that I
have trouble trying to live my purpose.
Writing, a gift that I treasure, is the only
way I can conceive of to live this reluctant
time that's supposed to be my own.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem