Hers is the whims of s thunderbolt,
And mine was begging a shelter,
Light-winged is her boat to cover,
Mine a lame-footed haggard’s stagger.
…The universe obeys her command,
But she be fools the mundane stay,
Tinging senses’ fraud, leads to the bay.
I would weep, I would creep, I would thrive.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem