As I take a funereal
look at my life
and how many times
the rug has been pulled out
from beneath my
rare periods of
seeming happiness,
I never forget that
I was born a loner.
I have long been held back by
a ball and chain of
sorrow, insecurity and shyness,
dragging it around like a
murky shadow.
My latest barrage of setbacks
seem permanent, insurmountable.
I see that the supposed happiness
was just an illusion,
an oasis,
in the desert,
that was only a mirage:
Mania.
However, I do,
having a dark sense of humor,
always look at the bright side:
Everyday I wake up,
still alone and despondent,
I am one day closer to...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I don't know if you have hit upon themes important to me or the universal life of poets, either way, thanks!