Sailing the sea of unknowns and dubiety,
Salt air and a vast blue sky are present, apex in their variety.
Uncertainty is my lover; depression is my son,
Born from fickleness, but loneliness is constant; it's where all began.
Seeing the new island from the horizon,
To open one's arms to the vagabond is a chance to become wizen.
As this vagabond turns into the anchor of my life,
It vanishes like a ghost in the full moon night while playing the fife.
What's left? To travel from island to island,
Meeting new people leaves a mark and scars like a million punches that land.
This is not new anymore; it's a nostalgic domain.
Hurting is now my habitual meal; pain is my constant sustain.
Never did I imagine that this could be my life,
Bathing in the pool of emotion, death by a million cuts from a knife.
The theater of soliloquy is now my comfort,
As this voyage reaches its end, I'll be living in the jilted fort.
As the sun rises from the east, so do I.
Feeling of pathos reaches me and fills me wholly; it covers my eyes.
As the sun sets to the west, the dawn of notion is nigh.
This life of mine is navigated by solitude; it's my last sigh.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem