it is indeed
a lonely pursuit,
waking up at night
and taking notes
about yourself, and
myself,
opening layers and
layers of
what i think had
become a habit of
pretensions,
to an extend, you forget
the difference
between reality and myth
between truth and pretenses,
it is this
daily existence that
creates within us
the talent of survival,
where right and wrong
join hands into marriage
to keep the
union, strengthen hearts,
wield guts together
like a monument of brass
and steel.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem