I am here and there,
yet I never existed at all.
I fall and glide,
Yet I never stepped of any cliff.
I speak and make no sound,
And I walk and move nothing.
I am the rose and the thorn.
I listen to the wind,
Knocking at my window,
Like a cold, vicious flurry of stones.
The rain pelts the glass and brick,
A sea raised into the air,
And released again,
Like the clouds were spitting on every creation.
Contempt and deceit,
They blanket the landscape,
Like a sheet of unrelenting darkness.
Leaving all in eternal night.
I am the Rose and the Thorn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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