Whether you have eaten or not
You will move
Never missing your steps
But missing your mind.
Any puddle on the road
Is a thirst quenching stream
Any remnant on the side street
Is a free restaurant.
Madness has its order
You will pass through one place
Severally and feel a difference
It makes rags golden
On the King's body
A Rastafarian out of the street man
Who sings and dances
The echoes of madness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem