How you dare
To count my age,
How you dare
To measure the time,
How you dare
To come to me.
You know nothing is mine.
You know I am gems that are nine
You know I am enjoying
Your talking your asking
Your walking your dancing
And your style of putting question.
But my dear, it is not under your capacity
To count the innumerable, to measure the immeasurable.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
In a state of sick inspiration I created a human of sand, As a blessing or a damnation Fell in love with the deed of my hand. And engulfed I was watching its features In a sweet and enjoyable sadness. Adoration of soulless creature In a blind and uncurable madness. I was desperate that if I take My precious beloved in my hand With a silent scream it would break And turn back again into sand.