The axis of an object surprises us,
It plays with the background of our music.
Then we realise its accomplishment with zeal,
Minds contaminate the spheres and surprises.
The realities speak and utter their adoration
For the wild flowers, the real stems riding there,
Those objects become realer than the logicians,
Those are those objects that are items.
An angle has been created by the upper workers,
Lines strangulate the air with music and art,
Then beauty forces the objections,
The projections of certain items become in space.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem