It won't work out this way,
Even if you tip over a whole forest,
You won't be able to find a single root anywhere.
The universe, when not fixed to the earth,
Is like a terrible dream.
Towns just lie about on the asphalt,
Seas are turned rigid
Wherever the earth topples over
And drift off afar -
Like colossal razors,
They slide uncontrollably.
And how eagerly all of us,
One by one,
Strip the old-fashioned veins from our bodies -
And very soon
Even the bees can't sting any more
Our porcelain children, which are meant to be set out
On the grand pianos.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
good writing, thanks, I like it. please read my poems and comment.