The heart beats fast wanting to get hold of the content, like the expectant mother in labour.
The radiant eyes just want to pierce the box and see through, the grasses engulfed the eyes refused clapping.
The right eye prefers to distroy the box presto.
It's a graduall process.
The sealed gift, it can kill faster than a gun-shot
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem