My liking is of there and then,
Across the sheep-clipped grass
After the rivers of a mountainous beast.
My liking is of the now and then,
Ever-present a day ago, watching
Minutes of the day and night.
My sheep are on the peak of performance,
The dear days of the events are
Acting in my direction, the fate.
I snapped, homily, with zeal and worth,
Inside my house of a hundred rights,
Where family honoured the shameful me.
My fifteen minutes were up, the closure
Was evidence of my betrayal in these
Thousand, thin and thick ways.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem