A man wades into the sands of time,
Time sends messages to another time;
When a man decides to plant a main thought
In the cogs of time, he means it more than life himself.
This clock is gazed at by the real newspapers,
Lustfully read and passionately written by some.
A report carries some deeds that orientate the society,
A society manages me tonight.
A man surrounded by the desert,
Actualizes sins too far into time,
For they are deserts of the whole kind,
Death masters him if time allows.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem