Atavistic whoppers cast light,
The present is swapped with the past delight,
In mare's tail the path's been lost,
Smothered is the flame
of conscience.
Crumbs of human joy-
How long shall it be possessed
Retrieved from the history's
streak
of primordial tall tale?
A whim of event perhaps
the comfort of modern man
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem