When were you morphed into a cynical bug?
What drove you to be so utterly smug?
You claim your existence is filled with logic.
An all-knowing intellectual or merely an insecure cynic?
How is the view with your tinted glass?
Without faults of the world, how does time pass?
Eyes wide open and an enclosed mind.
Your identity thrives upon stereotypes you find.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem