A rock is thrown towards the crimson sky
Falling rapidly in succeeding sessions,
Preceding the boulders, the pebbles and stones
That are minor and major and master.
The rock is falling to the grave ground roughly,
The gravel turns and burns into stone,
This rock from heaven has apologies and commas,
Feeling the earth with tellurian sights.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem