this is just a hobby
pure fun, nothing serious, just a game
i play
after a hard day's work, sweating my body,
purging all my intellectual juices out
to save a life, to free those who are detained
without just cause,
this is just a variation of the monotony,
it surges, but i keep it stable, still like a wind
that i invite inside my room and then i close the window
to hear a buzzing sound of
consistency,
this is nothing but a sigh, a snore, after a heavy meal,
in bed, silenced, finally, plunging into a world of dreams.
this is but a dream, and everything is allowed here.
no rules, all colors, all strokes,
this is but a sideline, no money involved, nothing bread-like
or buttered,
this is but the time in between the serious muddle.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem