He knows the dance of lines at night,
and their expanding, wayward trip,
convergent margins that unite
the perils and the clip-ons' grip.
Defiantly the speed directs
where once, per life, lines sternly meet,
this trip's third destiny elects
to make the skylines incomplete.
The scenes return to years before
abstruse, night's ambit takes to where
the lines embellish this decor
with his cognition's blue affair.
But who transforms converging states
beyond the compass' distant knots,
becomes a smile that far abates,
and his horizons' linking thoughts.
And those who dare to pass beyond
their speeding dreams of years eighteen,
their margins' arbiters, self-spawned
become and woods of evergreen.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
ΕΞΑΙΡΕΤΙΚΟΣ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !