This isn't meant to move anyone. There is an underlying joke behind this whole poem.
Feeling like a corkboard,
being stabbed continuously with push pins,
he takes a drink,
and hits another wrong key.
Making his move with desolate eyes,
pretending no one is present,
the vision os a satisfied soul seems likely.
It is quite a brilliant act.
A coffee and a back beat,
waiting in that everyday line.
We stare in astonishment at his actions,
recalling the day of his first dance.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem