Seconds tick and tell the time of your own,
Their men have adequate supplies,
Theirs are theirs and their wine of grapes exploding.
Many times the justice balances the nation
After a reality strikes into the blamed brain.
My brain explodes after a second of joy
In the weird ties and weird science of compulsion.
Let time be roses and sweet wine, with heavenly spores,
Judges of stripes and colours fall into slots of graphic quality,
Lasers fend for foes of frightening openings;
Let time obey the soldier, so that offences gather like fences,
Enthralling the cars that roll into your funny tummy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem