Quiet storm brewing inside, waiting for the end of time.
Cowering on the edge, faltering steps of knowledge are
unsteadily climbed.
Raked out in front pages of a mind, piled idly on top
of each other, simplicity beats a path through the back
door.
Wondering left on edges of a seat, brought forward under
everyone's feet.
Solitude stands for a moment and quietly backs away in
the thunder of unpleasant knowledge.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem