I am in the prison hole,
And it is like strong
Pots of poison.
I said to myself,
Mistake not this poison
To be nectar, my dear.
Morose, no happiness.
No way, no place,
I find here
For my purpose.
I find nothing is
Suitable for me.
The waves here,
Not good for anyone,
I know and I realize.
Still, I wander
With all like a machine.
Let me confront with the truth,
That is there in me.
I fear, no one else,
But myself here.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem