A pencil hit the floor with suddenness as flicking occurred,
I have found a nation of ruin in the thumb of brilliance;
This paper we have inspires me further, pushing me far,
Seeking the nightmare is like seeing the words unfold.
My pencil obeys me, obedient is my pencil of lead and wood;
But where is the engineer who aspired to it, who claimed?
The paper is on the wall, feeling good internally, like an item
Of lead for Rutherford or his colleague, radiation exists
Farther than the soul, this soul of mine has waited
As the pencils fall like the genius of evil down a tube of
Eternal oblivion, darkness and fence. The duty is about to
Hearten us as we speak, we are then so angry and hurt.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem