When a lemon is squeezed
tightly around its waist;
its pips popping out as it's squashed.
Do you hear it scream?
I mean,
like a mad man being defaced -
or a frantic lady being chased.
Do you hear the lemon scream?
Of course, you don't hear it.
Because you've already sliced it in twain,
and that must've produced an awfully discordant whine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem