That man in anger thinks he were there
But anger makes him just not there
Because he wants much to hurt you
Not in the stomach but in your upper.
He is quizzing because he is not sure.
He gets into a maze of wordy thoughts
And his words confuse you and him.
They hit you in your solar plexus and his.
Now, now, he wants to saunter leisurely
On the frosty wastes of the snowed hills
As I saunter leisurely now in this night
On the frozen darkness of my years.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem