He consumes in entirety
That which entirely consumes him
And the spirit of whose neck he has
In his hand in turn possesses him.
When the hour’s hand points
A certain direction then home beckons
Hence it seems not lost
The sense of place and time
Yet when he opens his eyes
Comes the age-old question:
“Where am I? ”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem