She sat in a corner, away from the table
And dreamed of conspiracies and fables
Against her, all those spawned at her cradle
Around her, a tense, emotional bubble
She tore at her hair and scratched at her eyes
And in her heart grew, hate, remorse and lies
Afraid of the demons that hold her she cries
Alone with her thoughts she begins to capsize
She craved for an end, for a cessation of sorts
And thought of a tragic end with which to cavort
Away from the woe, a simple means of transport
A final destination, a consolation prize to extort
She crept from the shade of the imaginary enemy
And fell into a deep, murderous ceremony
Doomed to an end wrought with sorrow and agony,
Alas, she can no longer know anything but tragedy
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem