We're almost tired of breathing.
Hey! Belief is free.
And luckily so far
They don't tax it?
Oh! The Paradise still exists somewhere
But you have to get permission to sit there
Among the others.
Please make us Logs
Or Stones, if not traffic lights
With the colour of Amber.
At least we could have wink in between
The revolutionary Red & pasture Green
For the reckless drivers
Who seek unlimited wilderness!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem