The sly fingers crawl in their drastic moves,
That way we stay and leave, in lies.
My slightly vague somersault is an
Apology for the acrobatics of gold.
This finger on the top of the hand
Glides fruitlessly, in its warmth
On the seabed, fixing the height
Of the ocean as it sleeps and deceives.
My straight armour collapses in the doing,
Forces are relatively smaller than most.
The arms of a man in the cavalry belong
To the equestrian soldier, a diver of the sea.
He blesses and caresses into the definition,
An ocean removes an infantryman,
It stains the mind of the brain, with unity
In this life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nicely done - I enjoyed reading your poem.