My swords are for killing,
In my own way of willing;
Mighty grass surrounds our heads,
Like those famous threads
Launching us, fading into obscurity,
Infinitely killing us financially.
The real thread is sown by channels
Of thought, through the right tunnels.
The sword is a large dagger,
Offices of anger are to stagger.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem