His everyday presence forgot me,
A little farther and the world toppled,
Investigations loomed larger than ice,
Brittle were the mechanisms of this small disease.
My research has been condemned by him,
For a moment, he took off the bucket.
Then worries were face-to-face,
Never wearing helmets on the heart.
My probable heats were aligned,
Menace happened on the continent,
Edges of disgrace overwhelmed and tilted
The balance we call living and disorder.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem