Call him the opposite of pushes,
Pulling is an art of shifting in the road,
To this community I collide and reside.
He budded off from the rest of the highway,
Echoes were unanswerable,
The density of mind neared extreme.
Hurtling past, the cars and other strong animals
Happened as questions resounded
And cured memories, full of small pains.
Others rushed and applauded us,
The stretch of the mind struggled
For blackness and whiteness.
Greater flow of minds and memories
Justified the consciousness into retirement.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem