The years of quiet knowledge cultivation,
Alone, the madness amplification,
Born of a disconnected from reality,
And gone haywire, big imagination...
Our teens' world now is abnormality,
With mystical yarns of geniality!
Friends become demonic kings of the past,
Leaving us fond of theatricality.
And a steep curve to make it, so downcast,
For we cannot emulate the mainmast,
Unless we found our own deification,
In His coils, witnesses of marvels vast...
I wish my teen years back for I reckon,
I did not deserve a luck so cretin.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem