Solitude

How many more Summers do I have to wait
By surviving the sultry days and steamy nights

With this monotonous methodical mortal coil

Of terribly the same melancholic fool's errand

How many more Autumns do I have to wait

By shedding all the hopes on tomorrow

Groping for nothing in the glimmer

And to live bare and barren

How many more Winters do I have to wait

By enduring the piercing pain of nullness

And witnessing the blazing ghastly white everywhere

In the state of sleepless hibernation

How many more Springs do I have to wait

By being indifferent to the vernal freshness

And how many more tedious emptiness do I have to pull through

Suppressing all the agonies and afflictions