trolling seems without feet, seeing
thou the eyes is open, yet the breath perfectly
touch the moist of cool winter soul
vividly capture the figure of face, as the
darkness shadow color the day of joy
even it fall down the soil to rest
dying lying in thieves, empty with
pocket something wealthy but the hands
foolishly accompany with powder in the hands
run with no sweat, taste without the tongue,
a stark contrast with contact that ends anywhere
beyond ourselves
let it be real than double standard identity
my brother
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem