Speak to the heart
Of a dying man
Corroded by the words
Said in gradual
Discourse.
In a strange hour
He will be freed.
The flask of his thoughts
Stained
And emptied.
Fine lines graduated to a poem, could you read mine loveliest angle living in the heart alive.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Strange hour, that of dying, and what lay behind and ahead?