This ethereal luminescence strikes at the heart
Of a middle-aged man, incorporeal man.
Then in a sense we are inexorable on him,
Idyllic habitats abound for us when we see
The plethora of ideas in our hearts of strangeness.
The ineffable pleasures of the heart craze us,
When we listlessly grind on our lassitude.
The fatigue so hunted is the strange tiring effect
We call itself due to its amount and success.
The immaterial man came from the stars
To explore our realities and likes and loves.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem