Abnormal giants display their kettle,
Evil events are enchanting from them.
This familiar inspiration is needed,
Gifts dreamed in the weather of breakfast.
A necromancer supplies taste to the giant race,
Faster than speed, the supplier quits the ogrish exploits
And finds one instead.
Evil event. This needs an hallucination,
But however much the Ogre, it rages on me,
Like an illusion of non-forgettable nature.
The actual spirit is forced away,
Leaving me with enchantment of my victory.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I was quite sloshed and saw your poem like a film, that too from a cinematographer's perspective because your poem is so alarmingly visual, and through the lens, I caught a masterpiece. It is in a class of its own...