Wretched, wasted souls who have succumbed
to the Box of Unoriginality.
See to it that your minds are forever numbed
to this World's abandoned beauty.
Your passions and boundaries are stolen
from the Sirens' melodies drawing you in.
The serpents' fangs poison the heart's secret token
and exchange it for exposure to stark lines.
That mindless Box becomes an addiction
that torments Creativity with its dancing colors.
Why pain the mind with such idiotic affliction
and stroll indifferently through the World's Fairness
that continually, over you, hovers?
pure thinking, purity, for lie in deep stupor the ones glued to the box!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Excellent poem. The Reindeer in the middle of nature giving holy message.