Dropping, sinking, submerging,
The boat is grotesquely important
At trade with death, the capsized.
Groping to the centre, a beetle solves
And fumbles, slovenly working with might.
It is the music service so bland for the century
Of beetles, reaffirming its might.
There is no denial, nay, no refusal,
Of the powers of the soil and their landslide.
Warn the others of danger, kiss the books of life
And hold onto the spreading of sight.
The boat of death cycles through deliciously,
Food matters forming us but original food is good.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem