it seems I am destitute of my essence
so I do not feel its exigency,
I am too sleazy to assess my identity
but I am so crazy for my futile beauty.
nothing remains lasting
though everything seems living,
but it is not really at all
the outward tasted always gall
the more I think, the more I feel bitter
it begets diversity, here is no better
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I like what your saying. top poem.