There is nothing but talks
Talks between the lips
Talks between the left brain and the right hand
What a hesitating mind
I see a fat Hamlet in disguise
There would be nothing
Except a rustling sound of a plastic bag
There would be no stir in the seated minds
Flow for the seated minds has long run dry
Fear to be
Fear not to be
During all this seated time
Can't you hear the roar in the sky?
"Go! Before your flow goes dry! "
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem