My dreams are eternal like the void,
In this void of evasions and doubt
The sacred reading is upon the plane.
When do muttered friends abound?
When they seek the sight of you?
When the light of a thousand stars
Combine to be fixtures of beasts?
My dreams involve friendliness,
Not just the archetypes of a lost
Generation, the loss is grander than mud.
My dreams, my dreams are solid.
Many of them demand a hearing
As if sight was sold on the market.
My reading of ready light is vision
After vision, to be composition and gait.
The walk of a thousand planets cannot
Contain the revelry of a day that outlasts.
Beasts walk this earth with anger and fits
Of heaven inside hell, like the old rights.
My sacred river has emptied its bowels
Into a tract worthy of a fountain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem