Flutter through the pages of a philosopher's book,
Lines end in poetry, lies eat away at the flesh.
More the grace as we explore the catacombs of
Our hearts, invisible is the silence.
Different features of the pen have eluded us finally
With filaments and joysticks.
To exert one on another is too black
And white, liking us too certainly.
Fluttering through the ages of an essential living,
We go through the galaxy of worries,
Joking, teasing and reasoning as quick as the head
Can master.
There are diverse creatures and silences,
Peering at their shape is like a vista of generality,
Feeding the frenzies, frightening the falsities.
These are worked gem-stones, offered by some
Who deny the existence of some people
Who defy the generality.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem