Rubbish, written rubbish
I can't show it to anyone I know
They'll get the wrong idea,
They'll think I am fatalistic,
A desperate soul...
(But isn't he clever!)
Too bad he can't control his thoughts
They should be more like ours
We are society, the community,
We dictate the acceptable attitude,
The right way to think and write...
But who-are we
But individuals, first
And finally individuals
Suffocating from individualism...
Or lack of it-...!
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem