Careless walking upsets the dress of time,
Poems of good deaths are poems of illness;
Lucky weapons are poor and popular
Letting the finder of bullet-crime be absolved.
The bullets piercing the air with terror of tightening
Muscles collide with a better man who lusts for
Others who confer with one another.
Here a master of the house enters the metres,
Exciting a caring man who is in warm embrace.
I found a cherry of the sort you find in places,
Squeezed it with authority of needles,
So that the message alerted the masses.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem