Retreating, advancing
Intervening the lines
Right to left
Left to right
No identifying the signs
North is south
South is north
Topsy-turvy
And back and forth
We all fall
Off the wall
On the ceiling
beneath the tiles
Captured by your wiles
Compelled to perform
The runaround
Observing the night
Blinded by the light
Refridgerated under the sun
Scorched under the moon
I tread
I run
Never to arrive soon
High fluffy clouds of the sea
Deep rippled surf of the sky
Not exactly what it ought to be
East is west
West is east
Why suddenly do they change?
Yet somehow
Remaining the same
Speculation was
Prepared to swim
Whirlpool emerged
Swallowed up for a spin
Rich is poor
Less is more
Why ought I run around still?
Why it's abruptly converts to ill?
Plummet into a boston creme pie
Not how, when, where, just why
Circulating about my mind
Not that which
Is absent only the find
Around in circles I go
All the hot air it blows
In my scalp where it pounds
Merely an additional
Runaround
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem