Am alone in my own style, even though i could not figure out the written of the sky, directing me to my destination, but i could feel the breeze of the air, flowing nowhere-somewhere, cracks into my skin, saying 'i know how you feel', it dazzles me a lot, which makes me feel 'should i follow you'
it disappears immediately without goodbye, but leaves my skin wrinkled. Truly its not easy to cope with life, leaving the thought in my head banging all day ' are you a mong the choosen to succeed? '.
Deep inside my self, this seems easy to answer, since i could hear the voice of the nature, telling me he know how i feel, lest i bug myself again, because am in my own style with God.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
God is a wonderful creator. Everybody idiosyncrtic. Every has his/her own style in coping with life, talking walking, looking even in writing. As a first poem, it's a great write.