Rushing solidly on the pavement of strident talent, pushing
forward into a tantamount, peaceful focus of another guitar
melody.
Afterwards, moving slowly along periodic figures of dancing
mirrored images.
Having many points of interest, holding onto pictures of
all the solemn chords of another question felt in solitude,
leading nowhere.
Having rhythms step into deserts, hidden in the favorite
spots of an oasis, never being let go of.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem