Searching within, tripping over piles of remembering,
dust-covered, unused, left over pages ripped from the
past.
Survival felt throughout the turmoil of everyday life, sustaining thoughts, creating an existence, living
solitarily alone.
Mitigating memories, placing them in books, storing
all on closet shelves, awaiting geriatric days -
unending time spent alone.
Indigenous talents in full bloom, taking on the
insistence of old age.
Indomitable obstacles inducing inert chaos.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem