The land of ours is not W A S T E anymore,
As is considered by T.S. Eliot,
It has turned into a C H A S T E one,
Such is my dream, my idle thought!
No corruption I see!
No injustice of any sort,
All is well as in a utopia,
All is there to support!
My dream is terribly broken,
Like a glass right then!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem