I see my poetry in collision with particles,
They differ and wonder as to their neighbours,
These words drink from a massive vacuum,
So behaviour is then limited in these groups.
I see, I think, I feel, that certainty smells of proof,
The hurt inside swallows the food so welling,
This proof internally inspires and decides the wrapping
Of ogreish dreams, transforming like solutions.
These poems of the past denigrate the overall master,
Foolishness is a door through the zone of menace;
Cursing and bursting, we stare and gasp at breathing,
Once the ill words connect with healthy phrases.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem