Like summer floods, it comes
The jack-bean-stalking anger
Rising in my mind, though rarely.
When it is set in motion,
It is like the veritable beginning
Of an avalanche, can't be stopped.
It makes me do things I would
Not have otherwise done, nor liked
To do, but it leaves desolate ruins.
Eyes go hard and glaring, earlier I'd shout
From deep inside, but now graduated
To ominous silence - only things break.
Food on wife's nose, glass door pierced through,
Thumb tear bloody, stitched at night by Dr Abde
Cups and plates in pieces, now down to tearing papers.
I dont repent the burst of anger, but
I would be happy if it didn't occur, for
I enjoy the serenity of a cool summer day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem