Calling into accord with one thought, rhythmically endeavoring to produce a contemplative attitude of love.
Pondering the exercise of living, alone on an abandoned course through the desert wastelands of my bereaved soul.
Catching hold of innuendos, placing thoughts of enduring sympathy under lilies of compassion.
Writing with an explicit purpose, relating the loneliness of being human on pages of empty-hearted exhaustion.
Tired of continuing on crooked lanes of sadness, turning from it all to become a solo song.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem