Trembling legs and sore back, but troubling is my heart having the itch I cannot scratch;
Disoriented and confused, I groan stumbling on a rock.
Innocent, she asks me whether or not I’m hurt
Should I tell her or not my walk is not faltered but I’m already injured
Waiting to be healed, I’m standing at the halfway of the bridge
Staring at the prayer flags, waiting for the void to be filled
I left my poem drifting with the wind…..