Aftermath has traveled far in a white box,
the encapsulated darkness condensed inside,
an error made somewhere in the boondocks,
now silent echoes resound, reverberate beside.
Life transcends plans, even an afforded stitch,
corrosive days, or sweet nights; it might deliver
a truckload of surprise, or a bizarre twitch
floating on the waters of its capricious river.
And I wonder if bees know life can be sweet.
Though when a queen dies in agony they moan,
sentimental insects weep in hexagonal suite.
Still, their scouts hurry home to report a nectar zone.
They dance inside the hive in a circular pattern
While some people enjoy tea with honey at a tavern.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem