it is like 
majorly all very strange 
what it is 
mad race 
wants 
complaints
and when at the end of day 
i ask myself the question 
nothing echoes back to me
as if everything a scheme 
manipulation to some new thing
and in the vast arrray of things 
confusions 
indifferences 
lives move 
smoothly
'transitions'                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem