one day more
that poem should have been written by you
but as usual you are tired and late and cramped
the man at the other end of the world
has taken it
and a day more is wasted
because you have never believed in the power
of your imagination
a pen in your hand soon shall turn into a snake and bite you.
a soul a mind as numb as rubber.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem