Millions of feelings run through him
Yet not a dropp of blood
runs through his veins
No longer does he hear
His life revolves around touch
The promise of pleasure
Never
Does he rely on his senses
Senses are irrelevant
It’s about his heart
the sun rises each morning
The same way it sets
And the moon
no longer
does it bear a heavy shadow over him
The only feeling that he isolates
is regret
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem