I remember crying last night.
I can’t recall the circumstances of how it came about, but I wept and knelt to the ground. Liberation came from crying and someone speaking in a soft tongue told me stop that I didn’t need to cry.
But,
I reassured them that I wanted to cry; that it was beautiful to cry, at least it was for me.
And tears were built up so high that it took years to complete.
“This is just the first stage” boasts truth, and I have to be awake to complete this cyclical transition.
Even in my sleep, I fear that others may hear my sob.
When, will I bring myself to that level where others don’t influence my theatrical emotions?
When…
Will I consciously permit myself to show my soul?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem