Rising smoke
Yonder up the sky
Panting chest with message
Running feet, with chest so sweaty.
That old drum
Its sound swallowed
By buttons and codes.
As tick tok the clock runs
Of a nerve itching of need
In the archives
The drum is found
Tik tok the clock runs
Buttons and codes
A revolution info-technology.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem