Madhouse
Neither the sleep was sleep
Nor was that dream, dream
But those stories were true
They matched idea, Freud
In a mad house, imprisoned
Among patients so made up
Like the stories, Queen 999
Innocent hearts flew in pain.
Mess was the system there
Doctor the true sick person
Patients were truly victims
As it is with, ‘political war'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem