It’s 4am and a fight has been unleashed.
God and me in the room,
Such a volatile feud.
He always stands there in silence,
against these bullets I hurtle.
STILL, will I wake in the morning
to be asked, “what happened to you? ”
“Argued with God, ” I say.
“God won.”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem