Feeble and dying,
Once I saw a cat
As pulling its leg
Was a little rat
'Be your usual self'
I accosted him.
In return, he said
Something really grim:
'Guy, you are deadly wrong,
I'm not a dying cat,
Who dares not even
Kill a little rat.
I'm a poor tiger,
Addicted to drug,
Whose valor and fame
Is lost in smog.'
Damn this addiction
And its rapture that
Will turn a tiger
Into a dying cat.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A perfect depiction of how addiction can affect the process of how the mind works. Nicely done!