Slowly scraping a stick across memory's pathways,
unable to alter or change a thing kept stored
inside.
Lazily accommodating the furthest periods of latent
desire, wishing for something more to rise above the
commotion of wallowing pity during life's unaccomplished
preludes.
Dallying amidst the leaves, fragmenting social wants and
desires, selecting and discarding the very fruit of
future demise.
Thinking and complying the exact wantonness of
pretentiousness for tomorrow's meeting with God.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem