The world is a catastrophe always evolving,
But somehow it must be more
Than it's life and death,
It's breathing and suffocating
In the fullness of youth or old age?
Can't it be more than beauty and ugliness,
Truth and falsehood,
Peace and war?
If you become very still
You can feel all of the people who are dying inside you
Right this minute
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem