I dwell in between past and present.
I've lost myself in the riddle of time.
We live in our memory,
pretending we are living at present.
Present is an illusion.
Every second passes by
is a memory, a past.
I can't separate memory and now.
Note: This poem has been published in the poetry anthology titled 'Apple Fruits of an Old Oak' (2016) from USA.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem