One fine day I understood him as a book
To be opened by the pages or the pages;
If from far off lands a word bespoke
I was to swear my allegiance to a god of stone.
I begged when I scorched, I was deserted in
A sandy region, searching high and low for the sun
Always in front of me, so I settled down and wept.
At last tears rolled onto my burnt cheeks,
And freezing sensations slipped from my palms,
For you must go and find me wherever
I am, I maybe the only deserted one,
Or the only deserter.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem