At a life's congested passage
His metallic painted hearse-like dilapidated car stopped.
Fuel tank has a tiny hole like his crocodile-skin wallet.
He sees an arrow with a sign-board,
'Here's the relief road.'
And someone mutters;
'Leave your limousine aside
And walk downwards to the trance.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem