I often wish the upper reaches of the mind
Would recognise the foolishness in me and you.
To chase these thoughts I stare at amusements,
Clinging to the bread and butter of a working day.
This thinking needs stopping, crashing and breaking,
Like a mind of habitats unknown, false and untrue.
These ribs need shattering and killing for the money,
The ribbon of truth is attached to my suitcase
As I saunter down the escalator, winning a smile.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem