‘Tick tack tock tick' I thought,
‘Ouch ohm loom pooh 'she sounds,
My hood a stage outside my mat,
Before the rise of aphid ‘Robert'.
Aphid a brotherly-enemy with finger ‘guillotine.'
Raising storms and causing clouds that no hand can quarantine.
In the storms I come to accept my fate,
As I quarantine my mind, odds I guillotine.
Staring at him,
I saw a form,
A form in an injured form,
Which is outside the conventional firm.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem