Installed in a grandeur post,
Shining but too cold like frost;
Causing hungry eyes to swell,
And its hallow tongues to smell;
The aroma of defeat,
And the sour shame of retreat;
Hiding the crunchy rough peels,
From its milky, sticky wheels.
Sensing all these from below,
Crystallized chaffs slowly glow;
Glittered around the dark spots,
In its mind’s inner clear dots;
Settled around as pure cream,
On its rusty, frozen dream.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem