Alone
Silent
Crying
Wondering
Where did he go?
Why did he leave?
Will he ever be back?
The blade
Glistening bright
Slides slow
Cuts deep
Where is the pain?
Why don't I feel it?
Will I ever get better?
My blood it
Drips so slow
Into a puddle
On the floor
Where am I?
Why am I here?
Will I ever die?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Silence is certainly nothing like the absence of anything but a circumstance of so much activity and meaning. It can be only broken by answers. Silence is the pause during which we do our thinking and feeling.