Sadness I
understand, the
way it claws and
unmans. It
saturates in
oppression and
lands,
intermittently,
bundled as a
poem. It is
accursed and
inspires
hateful writings,
but is no reckoner:
Sadness has the
noose for its
dirty work. Life
hangs on it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
good writing, thanks, sadness has the noose.