Low Spirit - Poem by Uktamoy Khaldorova
It is my well,
It is my hiding place,
When grieves come to seize,
Sometimes in this place
I observe chilla sitting there,
For nobody to notice me here,
I seek for the chance there
To climb out of this canyon.
Finding strength to attempt
I will come out of it at long last.
From time to time
The well attracts me, calls me:
Low spirited day!
- Descend every day.
Descend, the broad way!
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