I have dwelt in the
Thoughts and tents of
My heart in torture,
Thinking of one milky
Moment yet to come,
That every stray thought
Of it makes me slim, and
Sick, this burning I feel
Inside like fire rushing
And gushing with guilt,
That I can't get rid of
Either, where and how will
I find the one who will
Seal me tight in heart?
What grace is given me,
Let it pass to that one
And be spared of all peril
For the world has grown
Great with gross, ness that
Love is now mingled with
Grief as we find love in
Grave for things which
Were once held so dear,
Now obscured, and sober
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem