That running away is from the death,
Death justifies itself by accusing, staring
And poking the eyes out, with sting and wing;
Tomorrow the dying ceases, as we strive
To belong to justice and the way of dreams.
Heartache is a rigid fort worthy of mortar
Of the morals including the verses,
Bricks are laid with inscriptions,
On the arch we describe, the running
Is of a tap in blind usage, the trees
Are holier than usual.
My trees are like the knowledges of wise
Men, some arrive and some host
The parties of lectures, the lectures of signs.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
My trees are like the knowledge of wise. Very interesting wisdom shared with expression.10