We have thought deeply;
Our responsibility ends
When we leave this place;
It will be such a relief.
We click our tongues;
We wear our oldness
On our hanging selves.
The symmetry remains
Wholly outside our grasp,
Whatever we do still.
Beams of yellow light
Flood our parks, our eyes.
Those pixels are getting lost,
From our translucent skies
When we lie under the sky
Squiggly worms no longer
Swim behind closed eyelids.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem