Spinning and being a pseudo brother
Or witting the tale of a scrap of land
Is to be a king in your own home.
Into sanity we describe the acts of a boy
And his toy.
One obviously affects us,
Who becomes a pseudo brother;
Once there were boys of the brotherly
Concoction, feeding their frenzy
And keeping the reports to themselves.
I have sanity, and my links are fetching
From afar.
My brother is a spine of my whole soul,
Listening to him reminds me of slithering
Snakes, but the pseudo brother is worse
Who lifts me into darkness one day,
Taking my feet and destroying feet and toes,
Much about this I know.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem