What's this nonsense about hot poems?
I'd rather compose a cold one, without
Embellishment, and stripped down to the bone.
It wouldn't be fancy, but filled with doubt.
It would speak of dark things that stir behind
Habitual social masks. It would probe,
And its thought clouds would not be silver lined.
It would cut through sentiments like false hope.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem