Carved unto the walls of the lost,
Statues five-fold pounds more,
Lives among the greens.
An elephant cursed to never lift a foot,
The mercy of men has always lived among him.
Though as dry as it is,
It is a courtesy to bask in it.
Atop the land of the living,
Lives death in disguise,
As regret,
As pain
And evidently as "Love".
He eats away any will left in them,
Turning the living into stones,
And leaving the dead pounds heavier with stones atop.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem