There is beginning of my end again.
I follow Cynicia, my right eye.
Together we go somewhere, stumble lame
For fourteen times and do never know, why?
Nor even, why not? There's all the answers.
It is hard to return and I am soft.
My ears ring resoundingly. The rest were
Callow human creatures, these we lofted.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem