It is time now to tie the hands of beauty and throw
her over to immortal kisser like the black hole in the
arena, it will gulp her down the entrails. You see the flowers
are exploding in teeming colors in my little garden, some
are vibrant, some are sad but beauty exploring a thousand
ways to stop at heart. You know I had a fling for her slim waist,
her swinging gait but what it is? Is it bones, flesh, mucous
membrane and skinny pigments? I cannot touch her.
I cannot lay hand on you in spite of testosterone flowing in my
blood, you are seagull floating on the blue, Ole buttermilk sky,
the music composed in my DNA or ever fleeting dream of being.
Stop by the lakeside, stop to see the reflection in the moonbeam,
It is time to throw her over to immortal kisser before you ceases to be.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A very nice piece of art -enjoyed reading it