First day
Roads are wet, ditches filled
Grey are the skies, grass sings
The smell in the air is like jets
Aerobatic flies the soft essence.
Conference is over, evening,
In my mind the actions and faces
Their brains prisoned. Crippled
Some faces, and funny or showy
“Normally brains are behind bar.”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem