Or even though here,
My currently named as my father
Did not know so
What the grief is!
They lived with their fancy midnights
Over on luckiness
Their seeds of Time
Where bright and light the green.
But now here deep;
Under thunders of the greatest nuclear bombers
Over all children's mid-day asleep
They ended all good things for us,
And ended their bright shadowy times
On long mystic alleys of world town
Which there, ties with
Way-bows of all that murky eyes
With rectangle megalopolises!
But in absence of that bright sense
Folk dance on his feet of gladness
On gray rainy sky? !
Herbs' sense and…there
Smoky fucked up down-street walls!
Let's leave and arise
And contrast world
Bluish but not anguish, for yet…!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.