All the clouds hanging above
The sky lit by the mourning eyes
A man falls down to the ground today
With no grip, with no one to help
Fever comes at the hand
Says the old tree at the wayside
He could be the man to survive
But he couldn’t, could he?
One finger up in the air
Salutes the dying man
For what it takes to free himself
It’s a real hard and long way to go
A cage, is all I need to hate
And my world would never far from it
As the sounds from the grill scream
I would look to the other side, wondering
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem