What is your allegation? What is your sound mind?
Might we tingle and stammer with words of adoration?
Or is twisting fortunate ideas a righteous rationale?
The mind of poetic few is a blaster of sounds, of images
Emerging from the deep days of distress, a dream wails,
A dying returns as the clock ticks and turns its cheek.
What is your allegation from the sides of a square?
My mind is poetry not power, my heart is too majestic,
Minor actions speak as long as major acts combine.
Might we tangle and disrupt the voyages of our friends,
Through the waters of a watt, throughout the residences
Of rest, yelling a hydrogen to burden the hydrophobic soul.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem