Feeding the life from yourself,
to the undetermine mind of a single-handed murderer,
handicapped in a relapse sense of nature,
it will be an honor to guide that man,
along this damned and dire lane,
so sorrow,
so hollow,
but still it will follow,
a single lane on the left,
where life itself lies to itself,
so disfigured,
so un-matured,
but still it will nurture,
that man on that lane on the left side,
strayed far yet so true,
off the beaten path shallowed by humanity,
A lovely symbol of a man and his own way...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem