Factory of…
I called him; my friend of old times
we had talk; commented:
'Once in hand a stick to fly the F5;
now in hand a stick, helps me walk.'
Retarded he feels now, retired.
Nags and whines:
'Life is not as it was in old days
with elders respected.
Feels being factory,
making shit.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Life is not as it was in old days with elders respected. It becoming an universal truth, how the humankind degraded. It is a nice hot poem.