ADRIFT, with my chaotic struggles,
i collapse into a bipoler ghetto, and
find broken strings and dirty books,
and a friend with black smoke.
ADRIFT, into the night, i fall like
a failing priest and wait for the
power of faith to come back.
ADRIFT, and turned about, untill
i grab with both hands and land
on both feet.
ADRIFT, , , , , , , , , no more.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem