The rites of passage, broken on a wheel
Of populist displeasure, populism given
To coca-cola urges, Nike-driven coitus,
Distance between reality and self.
Wheel broken, there lay rites eternal
In rhyme, there is freedom from chaos
In meter, a warm drumming comfort
Made for one drummer’s silence.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem