On the warpath
Yet reason
Stirs
Still.
Organization
Still
Lurks
Minority percentage
Even
In the clouds flying
In the air
The spume on the rocks
The white-foaming
Mouth-waves
Thought meanders
Here and there
Snake
Of revolution
Not to be
Stopped.
Too late
Too late
Master Time and Evolution
Have taken over
Now.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem