The silence of the stone sleepers
And the tricked audience
I say nothing before the mute sounds
I foresee fever
I guard you from silence
And city spies in bloom
Even though eyewitnesses keep us apart
The disappearance of colors
Turns Day into night
And the broken into rock
Into the ninth hour
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
If poetry can be compared to music, then the words are notes And the ideas are the melody.