With flames gushing out their ears
Like volcanoes from an eruption
And arachnids screaming through their bears
As they burrow it for solutions
But the solution is not the question
The question is not the answer
Whose Head is in this coin
To give to Caeser what belongs to Caeser
Imagine you were in this eden
Infested with hunger stricken serpents
But salivating from apple fruits so ripen
And dropping down in torrents
It is not to whom the cap fits thing
As to whom it was given
Less given for the fitting
But fitting just for the chosen
Whether from the apostles
Perhaps! the disciples
Or from the trends of grand tradition
Whether on the truths of revelation
Lies this consideration
For this solemn mission
Ours is an age so apocalyptic
No thanks to stagnant laws and literatures
Open! Consult! ! the scriptures
If it makes you not fanatic
Oh! Caeser's head the dome of power
The coin the mother of matter
that massage our brutish urge
And make it bulge and bulge
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem