The brain transmits a thought of light,
Focussing on the image sublime,
Fitting a sordid time of spine,
Living no lie with no lie visible.
The brain, it is the brain that suffers
From too many disorders when
They ever arrive, like the order of the
Cosmos, attaining disbelief.
The truth of the ground is similar to
The brain, for the neuroscience staggers
At the heart of the reality,
When time forces a ball to ignite.
This brain is your brain, and my one
Mattered to the eyes of mothers and fathers
Who gave birth to brained people
Of heavenly scope.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem