I overslept on emotional theory
That dated me into nationalistic gravamen
When thoughts on self was a ditch of evil phenomena
'A bird in the hand is worth battle for the one in the jungle, ' Christine my mother told me one evening
'Oh little boy, you are silent as buttock! '
Threads and linens of harsh agony leached the tubules of glory
My feeling was just a mare of vision
I died on a trip to paradise, a 'tranny'
Leafs of grown up 'dork' jubilating like a ' ghoul' not fearing traces of emotional transient after life
Taken out of the road to the fire
I mean ironical belief that' I can do'
Surviving on a soul of ' I can't do' tragedy..
Calling outside voyagers to come lift a hand to the ceiling
Not knowing the first thing is 'trial'
Not knowing he 'has all'
Oh self sit down and think
Peep not trouble, lead me to the joy and success
Teach me 'me' and lift 'me' out of fire.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem