am writing this poem
when the class i entered is dark
the lesson makes it like a moon
the pen i wrote with is mighter than the sword
the question they asked
are simple like the girl i love
the desk they sat are ships
no noise like shadow beneath a wonderful bridge in a
stream
the board i was writing is watery
an eyes of my beloved
pen
as white as the sky's frame
an atmosphere of the air in the said class
its habit
it is of shameful
listeners in the class i was teaching
the wisemen
their food
which is wisdom
few are they
wise in the various
cupboard,
submission
attention
and listening
the pride of the pupils
before me right now!
On my toes i sat
without a mat
am kindly so fat
i ete meat enough
like lion in charisma
or skyish
and mind of mine is.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem