Dullness on everyone looms like
Morning fogs in December
That hinder them to decipher
Rights as the supreme animal.
Counterfeit they are and grotesque
Curse to the illumination of a society
Which is deemed to have intercourse
With the world of reasoning,
But the so called insects of your surrounding
Let you not penetrate in Logic
To harvest the confidence of a civilized,
That could wash away the conventional
Iron from the body of your society......
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem