Some of the mathematicians reside in bed,
Their occupations demand a religion to make,
Their prayers state the ultimate ends,
For the experts of the field too much.
Some of us demand a thought to unleash
A whip too righteous and straight.
These lotuses are red and dear to light,
It will fly in your face, faces demand money.
The numbers in the ranks of the people
Are nobody and non-stop madness.
A being concentrates like the big bulls,
One reaches into the void called cyberspace.
Two thoughts react to the chemistry,
An addition and an elimination causes us to
Unleash the numbers and symbols of our times;
Like the oils and lipids that are too saint.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem