This chameleon peregrination of gaunt corrosion, this entrenchment of perfect disorder, this tainted source of vibrating welkin, this circadian ria of spurned contortions, this mute hug of crippling winds, this mocked silence of the flamboyant end... this vastly sprawling milieu, where people seem to be living in the death of their shadows, enshrouded in the cryptic seasons of fable reality and vacuous truth, punching the air with invisible fists.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Good one brother...I love this