I feel like a bunch of flowers
Tightly tied as in a bouquet
Each a victim of cursed soul
Wanting a caress of gentle breeze
I never beseech made up mercy
Nor do expect bliss of heaven
Yet a prick of bizarre light
Beckons me to a land of colors
With lovely dreams in blissful sleep
An empty world of darkness calls,
Shall I get salvation there?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem