Love in seventeen
syllables is intellect
trampled by passion
Hate in seventeen
syllables is intellect
restored and angry
True love grows from hate
tempered by desire to
cleave equilibrium
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Tremendous display of poetic muscle. A good ending is essential to leaving the reader with a savory after taste and you nailed it: 'cleave equilibrium'.