So much of such eventualities, are caught in time
As so many ways of realities lost, feels like a crime
Considerations flanked, to passing of superficiality
All so polite until we all get to know, a personality
And form the judgemental opinions, to obliterate
Any chance of anything worth, everything of late
When toying around this fathoming, of thoughts
Aggravated internally, by our self appointed courts
Tired I have become, and can never figure out why
Where my energy has gone to, and shall I ever fly
Toward something of better reason, to find meaning
Before it all just gets too much, and it starts fleeting
Away again like the slow corrosion, of coastal walls
As it just keeps pressing on, no matter if it so appals
Conjugated to a verse, of those same words yesterday
That I so spoke in jests, without any substantial way
Has so much been spoken now, and left in the cold?
As I try to figure it; feels like I am growing too old
To recreate any sense of individuality, in a moment
Of repetitive days of nine to five; a week to augment
Gathering memories and wondering, which ones are
Worth keeping and which ones I can choose, by far
Isn’t much consolation when one is, for an autonomy
When all that is left is to think, upon such a gravity
This is what it is and I am who I am, at least for now
Believed in just being myself, as a story upon my brow
Speaks of yesterday but my eyes, always see forward
Looking at potentials and concerns, always brokered
Similar to that white stuff, that falls from grey skies
Always nice to see but then it, never sticks but flies
Though such as it is, for when it finally comes to rest
Snow causes a problem, though aesthetic at its best
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem