The scene is so familiar to me.
Blue notes from a saxophone
Ascend into the wounded night skies,
Like awkward dreams.
When they finally descend,
They seem to permeate my essence.
Nothing can change things.
That is for certain.
Yet I'm tired of absorbing
Suffering like an old, discarded sponge.
I'd like to seek out a new life
Away from the habitual, miasmal gloom.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem