but I do not feel
tears roll down may face.
yet only I hear
the plea of my soul.
I am shattered,
but no one seems to realize
their stepping on my shattered pieces.
What is this?
That I feel so intense
but no one else can realize it?
Is it insanity?
It's a quest without objective,
a voyage without destiny.
How is it so easy to judge others
but so impossible to be yourself?
It's the irony of life,
like a madman's poetry play of words.
It's the impatience of waiting,
the fear of acting,
the uncertainty of choice.
Its a poem without beginning nor end,
neither logic or intent,
meaning all and still being meaningless...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.