O! Sacred Muse
where is your voice
in this dry
and empty
desert of immensity?
In dark isolation
this winter's morning
the heart yearns apparently alone
while the mind remains vacant.
Having put the radio on
music from a requiem
seems to add to a soul's distress.
I place my pen on the table again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem