he world is narrow
And a silence clings around the trees.
What the future shall be like
No one knows…………
Where shall I lay my hands with which I would like to write poetry?
How that child shall recognize her mother in pitch darkness?
We shall stand sober and decorated in a celebration of
White collared guys
But who,
Who shall suppress a scream that would blow out
from the deepest core of some one's heart
against the entirely false decorum……
and shall cross all limits of timid composer.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
nice one indeed. your writing is totally different. like to read you