what we cannot do with fire
touching it or we burn
caressing its hair or we
feel the seeping pain of heat and sting
we find a way of having to watch at a distance
where we are safely satisfied
the fire burns profusely that even when it is far from us
our thoughts melt and our identities with our wishes
get all confused about what to do next
we feed ourselves with gasoline and not expect
what catastrophe shall next happen
the fire laughs, and tells the sky how foolish can we all be.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem