Where did his thoughts lie?
At the bottom, destined to die
Before he could take ahold
And reshape their twisted mold
An everlasting, pungent taste
Of his own thoughtless waste
That inhibits his dreary mind
From seeking what he burns to find
Alas! A frayed thought or two!
Even if its color's a shade of blue
A thoughtless man can only see
A haze of perceptual impurity
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem