Rugs wrinkled, lying on the floor, bamboo, painted pictures
hanging upon the wall.
Papers piled all over a wooden desk, a bookcase, stuffed
messily with everything, but books.
A couch and two chairs sit crowdily in the room, while a
filing cabinet stares out silently in the corner.
Within this little cubicle and big mess, sits a therapist,
a co-worker standing at the doorway just shaking her head.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem