The hollow, the fascinating, this untrue world,
With fancy happening of the fictitious herd,
The way we need and the way we should,
Meet at the point totally absurd.
The truth of the matrix is only lie,
The things we aspire wholly die!
The heart and the mind often trifle,
And the coming time goes with shy.
The fanciful fan fanfare the fang fun,
But they remain unknown to the coming ‘pun'!
And the man putting up with dies,
Before the happiness of his death's come!
If the things we look, the things would shy,
Then, this unreal world, God made, why?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem