There is nothing I feel,
Everything is grey.
My thoughts locked away by a seal,
I have successfully hid them away.
Even when no one is around,
I still don't make a sound,
For there is nothing for me to say,
this perfunctory peace I have found,
Plays it's steady droning sound.
A beat I can work with.
I can keep in pace with the pound.
With each beat, I cast my emotions away.
And return to my steady yet simple grey.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The tragedy of it is that nobody sees the look of desperation on my face. Thousands and thousands of us, and we're passing one another without a look of recognition. Henry Miller Sad but universal