Your body can never guess
your intelligence
is taking it
in hand
like your intellect can
that the creator
is keeping it
in mind,
and that the creator
is having something done to it
by some sheikh
in some part of it.
Intellect doesn't know those bits,
it's too far away.
But for goodness' sakes
it can con there's probly no end;
no end to some sheikhs.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem