All the nights of blues
stood silent when taken to the brim of the glass
with colours mixed in different hues
'this is the world drink it fast'
for the time will never stand
on top of her own forlorn lost points
nor will she feel right until its end
her torn and worn her broken joints
and no she will not wait until
the dawn and twilight have peacefully wedded
for her wedlock waters will always spill
in moments left clear and not blended
and no she will not account for the tears
silently falling to the barren soil
unless her hands-she always hears-
slap the birth into cry when death recoils
back to its fallen sky cast ashes
back to the points when a moment splashes
oblivion waters that each rock crashes
when human with her stone. woefully clashes
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem