Stampeding through deserts of feelings,
trampling them all and leaving them to
dry out in the hot desert sun.
To be purified from all of existence and
later to be raked into piles and thrown
into poems.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I like your poem. I tried to rate it (10) but couldn't, I don't know what I'm doing wrong, but it seems my vote isn't being counted.