time flies, swiftly in fact,
invisible, twin of the wind,
friend of wounds, and the secret
foe of harsh memories,
what you do to me, cannot be undone,
you escape, like a dropp of water seeping into a mound of sand,
the air and sun become your safety house
but i say, it is just a matter of time
since The Furies alive and
insomniac, sooner, shall find you among the
fog,
and there shall you be snatched
to fall back into yourself
punished to a concrete presence
docketed like a word of woe
on a stone tablet.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem