In the pitch dark of night I dwell. Scavenging the leftovers that you repell. With my mosaic vision I could see. The search of predators and their flea. This mundane world and whirlpool of misery. Never got the mind that's full of liberty. In death, they say, there is light. Bounty of thrust to help my flight. (2011/04/17, Dharan, Nepal)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem