A man,
in the shadow of a child,
walks, for the sake of
phylogenesis.
The Great Bustard,
was on the brink of
extinction. Somebody
was not an achiever.
Seeking,
an inborn god in thighs,
for running faster than light,
weightless, faceless.
Dust will take,
dust for the dark matter
sequencing a disaster.
The animal within roars.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem