Who is this little child in view?
Where once cheerful colors, now metallic hue
Once a heart of flesh, now a heart of stone
And sad, tired eyes looking all forlorn
The cracks on his face vividly show
The beads of his sweat vigorously flow
Through the ancient lines of a faded cheer
Little child, why are you here?
All this time where have you been?
What troubles and horrors have you seen?
Places and people, the living and the dead
They're all in your head. Now all in your head.
Rivers of consciousness run dry, very dry
Time like an eagle swiftly flies by and by
The little child pale as the moon faintly stir.
So come near me. Do come here.
Alas! The frail child steps into the bright moonbeam.
Discernibly his jagged edges and ridges gleam.
From the shadows shines this peculiarly familiar eye.
The frail little child is none other but I.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem