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