Look… through the windowpane!
All in a streamline!
Sitting on top of the corporate world roof!
Differing from being on the road!
Chat…chat…chat…chat…chat!
The shape of modern mental is not speaking!
Eighty percent harshly lashed to rags! ’
Throw mind concert of silver sand,
a play of golf on a private jet!
With a tale on classified earth globe,
ambition becomes entirely lawful!
Money does not have colour!
What is of Pirate, fights in Sahara!
Sailing unreasonably through season chats!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem