There is a revolt
in the drawer of my table.
Words in the letters
that you have given me,
are scuffling one another.
This night also
I duel with the sleeplessness.
I am toiling to thrust
my restless mind
into the glen of darkness.
Dear friend,
Let it be dawned,
This time I will set fire to
all those letters brutally.
No conscience can prevent
me from it.
I want to grin heinously
at the rioters
when they get cremated…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem