The stratum so sealed is the vein,
An artery collides with the busy brain,
As it hurls the brightness of oxygen
And falsehood vanishes with a scar.
My junction is fit for the princes of old,
Their wrinkles hurt and hurl with great health.
Stitching is curing the blind, full of tragedy,
But it is not obvious, it belongs to seeing;
One vein can be so like a Northstar,
Fastened to the upper highest sight,
In an apology too bright with blood
And arteries obey the tracts in their acts.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem