Now we talk in ways of order,
It must be sometimes the good of being,
Or the rights of a human,
Yet now the disease has spread.
Forget us when we stay at last,
To see us I have a solution
That I am accustomed to,
Feeding the crystals of glass
With light and darkness.
Looking at me, the faces of light
Smack my teeth, feeling awkward
I grasp the grass fully, sitting is standing
As I warn others not to see me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem