There is a folk I know
quite too well,
he does not refund when he owe,
at least that's how well I can tell.
Then came a day
stars littered in the sky,
he left the house again,
To in the same sin ply.
He's such a torn
in the feeble flesh,
and a cowries headed horn
seeped in the quintessence.
But on his way
he met a flaw:
a bus collided with him,
and his consciousness took a walk.
Ribs carved, bones twisted,
joints squat, veins stooped,
mitigating blood clutched lethargy,
confetti of dispersing breath imbued.
None to take him from the spot,
since all neighbors were his sport,
even death ain't interested in taking him from the spot,
but if you're, you could go forth.
19: 09: 28: 06: 57
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem