3.
We pluck the flowers of happiness in reading
in writing we vomit that we consumed from the bowl of others
We die with a passion
We live with it in the coma of time
We may say, 'only poetry retained us in that island,
And only poetry drove us to sacrifice ourselves for a hungry sharks
That great us with tgeir tails on a waving form.
That's the harsh irony of fate. And we have to live with it. Bery nice poem
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thanks, Aarzo!