Round

 
Everything has lost its blooming smell and color.
Immortal skies which were above are now beneath;
There’s only mortal darkness waiting for me further
And its embrace, I hope, will bring the remedy…as if
 
There is a round pill to break this circling disease,
This twinge, that’s playing tennis on the field called “man”,
In which a human being is like a tiny ball is kicked with ease?!
By whom? The cruel destiny? Oh no, by me; a man.