Crises are sold to people who buy,
Their wastes are their friends as they call
The friendships with their silliness,
Forgetting the life of relative kindness.
The clients come year in year out,
Collecting the gifts so swollen with hurt,
They must be limbs of great work.
I have to seal the ideas as a world and wall;
One reasons, and they had left a solution
For the whales and sharks of the ocean.
The ocean is huge for the occult is near
It.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem