Struggling hard, i beg for freedom.
Like i stepped in line to walk amoung the angels.
Like i could bore a hole through the crowds
and go far away in the last light.
But sadness still comforts me,
and maybe Heaven is just dumb.
Hanging out on clouds and not making much sense,
now that my pathetic velcro mind
knows accidents will happen:
Whether God is disturbed
about nothing or everything.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem