Who can tell me

After yearning for everything,
there is nothing now I want.
My reason is muddles
and my sight is obscured.

After so much searching
I can’t make out what I find.
I speak softly to those alive
and very loudly to those who are dead.

Who can tell me
if I should cry or laugh,
if I should talk or sing,
whether I should fight or escape,
if I should stay here and wait,
or if I will dry up
and be buried right here?

After waiting so long
like a cat in ambush
I’ve become part of the ground
like a wine left to fallow.

So much hope for the future
had I in other days.
I will find it again
if it takes me a lifetime.