I despite you not, the bottle liver.
Nor do I treasure your talent too.
But I take you for a friend,
For you alone, and the Master
Knows what secret wells in you.
Its comic when you're filled up.
But more tragic when you tell what
Visions spring in you.
Do you pretend to drink to seal
Your ears and eyes?
Or your emotions drink you up?
Or even more, the revolting hands
of the world, sends you parcelled
glasses at serving?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem