Deep down in your lodestone soul
do you really feel, can feelings reach
the seething magnetite that's there?
The id's a sedimentary self,
brain's current of book-keeping;
is the cloth rent now, is the battle nearly won-
Does it see only what the gatekeeper permits,
or are there holes shot through, rivets of shining light;
can anything penetrate without permission,
Deep in your ravaged countries, your sublimated populations.
And who are all those tiny cells working for,
those nameless trolls, laboring in service of you-
You, their only god, remembered bravely second to second,
their steady fires burning tiny holes
deep within the veils of your sleeping.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem