It been a while 
Since I wrote something, 
A rather longer while 
Since I said something.
But my mind still seems to borrow
The thought from the underneath, 
Of the world blackened by the rust
Of time.
This seems to be one of my 
Spontaneous outflows of the emotions, 
Camouflaged in the monotony of
A dead life, 
A driving soul of this barren man.
This I find 
The only way out of this misery.                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
 
                    