I found myself in this utopia
Enclosed in this width and space
Why I got here is beneath me
The purpose of my being is illusory
The way I will be exiting
I do not know
Like an interloper
I have dwelt in this *exist-tense*
The excruciating pains that she gives
Is without limit and boundaries
This existence has seemed like a curse
The toils and struggles
Seems to blow out of proportion
The more I dwell in this emptiness
The closer I get to my demise
Like an interloper
I have been subjected
To all that has been thrown at me
one thing is for certain
I will exit this state one day
Like a thief at night
A mighty king will breeze in
And take me out of this *exist-tense*
Flying me to my real home
That is devoid of this *interloping*
That for now I am condemned to
*exist-tense* a coinage from existence
*interloping* a coinage to heighten my pains.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem