Signs carved like paths on sand
Consequences, though late do come.
And constant change of position happen to all shifting our former balances
Burdened by mind bugling voices of our errors
A rare epitaph, in confines
Carries the print obviously
Leave it untainted keep the landmark
Or the upshot might blow you off
Alas, the memory is lost leaving us the trail
A glare, Yeah a glaring wickedness
Wobbled walks in the new world of light in man’s eye
In company of bells and beads of ecstasy
Yet unrefined in our ways with prejudice too many
Confined, in loneness, revel in vice
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem