I gave her all—my heart, my time,
But silence echoed every climb.
She wanted more, yet gave me less,
And left my soul in quiet mess.
No wounds to show, no tears to cry,
Just heavy thoughts and asking: why?
A man like me, with dreams once high—
Now walks the earth, but lives to die.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem