I am a tourist, I am in travel
For some people, I am a novel
There are some pages, self oriented
In some pages, society stated
My path unknown, my aim untone
In touch with mud, my every bone
It sounds a consonant, it sounds a vowel
A sky expanded, is in my eyes
Everyone has, a hope to rise
My journey may be, short in terms
My history enters, in depth as sperms
Just innocence, is identity mine
For health of world, my thoughts are wine
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem