got long thoughts recently like long bamboo poles
with oil around its body
can't climb further
feeling the falling of
helpless ideas
the man sitting over there
says
idealism is lost and we are
hopeless
on the first day of November
above those fluffy skies
near Sulu sea
i sing a song about breaking
days, digging hearts from shallow graves
somehow i think sorrow must have
split ends
cut them and have them
their short hair
some bangs like cute kids
in Sunday church
i think I'll go out, and have a short run
sweat out and be mad.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem