My soul is old and worn; like the soles of your favorite shoes.
Is that why you have a tendency to step on it?
My heart is scared and barred; like some old convict.
Is that why you treat it so roughly?
My mind; it wanders far from peace and normal.
Is that a book you tear pages from?
My roads getting short and the journeys coming to a head; so can this companionship of ours.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem