There Are No Sundays For The brain.
Life confusing beyond comprehension
The brain acrimoniously blocking reality
And weaving its own myths
Into the minds's foggy passages
The brain's emotional baggage
Fires up the neurons into a mad frenzy
Cornering the emotions back under
The leadership of hate
Dancing toe to toe
With bitter delusions
Gimmicks of false desires
Snoozing away the truth
The so called genius
Of the self image
Is truly the vomits of thinking
Shoveling life into angry frustrations
Resulting in all just hollow despair
The crying of the pure self
Is visible all over the face
As the intoxicated brain cells
Have forsaken the self
Pampering the self image
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem