behind me an old building
paint peeling like dry skin
shrubs chasing roots in vain
crow a top roof shaking head
nobody has laid on that thread
nor water lawn; gives bread
am still here watching sea
those old rusting ships pass
with big boxes filled up top
we never stop buying stuffs
make us so happy and bankrupt
maybe reason work isn't enough
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem