Before the triangles in a desert countenance
Or before the memorials for passion indefinite,
Minting appreciations writ large upon the faces
Reading too much the yawning timelines.
The ambivalence of the craftsmen strains
Parallaley raised within the eyes external,
Tinkered with the perpetual the time palaces,
Words from the wheels spinning perfectly deciphered
By the contemplations complimenting each speculation
Before the reflection of counting sun clock.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem