Passivity in throes of life, throwing people off, not
knowing what to think about the situation they're in.
Thinking, straightening out lines of ideas and placing
them into thoughtful sentences to be pondered on quiet
silent evenings, alone.
Snaps of memories being held carefully in mind, no way
to picture them except on photographic screens, not
blinded by raucous behaviors of another, trying to find
their own way in this empty world.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem