of all the letters of the alphabet
it is you
that has never been satisfied with an answer
the questioning mind
uses you like
there is nothing more important in this world
except an explanation
always searching for the reasons
and justifications
always asking
if it is worth it
if this really matters
if this is really true
and guilt ridden you stumble upon a stone unturned,
blood stained the knife that fooled your hand:
why?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem