For Those Who Were Said Godo Is Not Coming Poem by Miroslava Odalovic

who sit fidgeting in an absurd strife
who see no beginning no middle and no end
who live a life like corpses in despair undead
whose thriller carcass of the ship sails horizons split
long suffered walk with no place to sit
in an edge line deadline thin line crossing
may your feet stand still
may the dawn's touch kill
hands in pain outnumbered
in ekete bekete tsukati mey
falling apart in a dusted clay
may you eyes be embered
by the fire burning
in a tender feel
get rid of a learning
that no sense can seal