A small ant gets into the shirt,
Climbs up with ease and might,
Not very dark, still can seek,
The real world is just outside,
The borders of a short and a singlet,
Floating travel to touch the warmth,
The second it bites with kissing touch,
A thunderous blow right on its face,
Ugly truth of the wanted lives,
Alive between the sheets of comfort,
And in the cave of the microwave vibrant,
Everything loved, always hated at last.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem