A trembling assembly of half-fetched thoughts,
Rock and roll over my ageing brain.
They know the route, they gnarled and fought,
With logic, that Imprimatur, that Bain.
One day soon, I swear to this, I'll take a stand,
Against convention, its limitising detentions.
I'll take a half-fetched thought, and will withstand,
The onslaught, the call to subdue, my lost intentions.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem