The boy who tried to tease fate
Was actually not getting ahead
Anywhere, on his motor cycle,
For two seconds lead over bus
And bus got angry and life forces
Flowed in thin capillary network
In a five feet white clothed space
Looking behind blue opaqueness
It is then tubes, air and liquid
White robed men sitting in judgment.
We have seen it happening again
Not knowing why some days it is
Not the same sky and green patches
Liquid shadows and train hoots
Why unfeeling buses turn angry
And why denial starts down there
In the depths of knotted bowels
That hid nut shaped flesh machines
Pumping dirty liquids into the world.
All the time big buses get angry
Nut shaped machines deny service
Train hoots do not pierce silence
Everything is angry on some days.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A thought provoking compact poem in classical/traditional syle. I liked the rendition of a needed topic