O these sons and daughters of anomie
Are so lacking in colour, form and shape.
They are directionless. They merely chase
The wind it seems. Unlike their ancestors,
They have no notable frames of reference
To rely on. They simply drift through life.
They greedily devour the darkness,
As the light is now out of bounds for them.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem