Death has a step over the line I call home,
Home shall remain a constant danger now.
Heaven is a dangerous country we live in,
Hell is the light of darkness, of everything.
We eat starch there, eaten by the crows that vomit,
How is organic chemistry eased into the dead fruit?
We liven the place with electricity, expressing hatred,
Making a constant reminder of energy and its risks.
Death then carries one, carries one further like a lorry
On the way to another country, far away.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem