Trying to look through the blurred lines before my eyes,
Searching desperately as if I seek my life’s breath,
Left and right, up and down, back and forth, hurriedly in all directions:
Where is it? What was I searching for?
The misty clouds in front of my eyes,
The blinding wind, eyes brimming with tears,
Distracted by the pain of cold little knives scratching sensitive skin,
Bruising–yet not wounding–as the unforgiving frozen rain
Hammers the lost voyager.
She can’t see where she should go,
She can’t see where she has been,
She can barely see where she is,
But stubbornly, she pushes onward
She cannot let the storm win
She has to weather it
She must win
उसको रोज़ रोज़ अपना ज़िंदगी ख़ाली लगती है
उसके सपने और उसका प्रेमी भी उसको छोड़ दिया
उसके पास कुछ नहीं है
उसके सब कुछ हार गया
Quien piensa algo sobre ella?
Quien tiene tiempo para ella?
Nadie, nadie tiene tiempo
So alone she remains
Stranded and tortured
Just her thoughts and her varied tongues
Keep her company
Mock her with their echoes
Nothing tangible to root her here.