Tipping and tapping out rhythms with angel wings,
soaring over earth's existence with foresight and
ingenuity.
On plains of existential bias, life beats us down,
taking our ownership from our free will.
Drumming insistently upon our brains, regaining
or purposes from the beginning, scratching only
the surface as we fall to our knees in final prayers.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem