Dodging deadly ditches
Dressed as luxurious divans
By the dashing dubious
To entice and entrap
My fortunate feet
I ditch the fastidious flesh
The bane of man
Dragging one backward
Like a century old fox
Full of wiles but senile and hobbly
And make poetry my own grave
Comfortable and copious
With pen and paper
Burying myself alive deep inside
Desiring no farewell nor funeral
And crave no resurrection
In this cacophonous earth
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem