Day as the land of wild sand
Indifference to lep, light bulb and stubborn
Against the servant people
My mood is gone, my juice is gone
The fire of withered sky flares
Hatred, sucking in my heart
All-around
They were rusty, sharp, rough
Stars stabbed in my soul
And as the wild spies in his own blood
I trembled and stretched out at night
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem