A wisp of my hair is jury mast knot
with boundless time in each slot.
Touch of this far cry is damn brown
ecletic music i hear is fine drawn.
Falling hail stones i enrich for a drupe,
heat of greed to warm and grope
my molten tears, before sinking dreams
for carving my wounds.
Puff of wind hit hard in transient glance
water splashed on my face,
i woke up with defty fists
left foolishness on a knife rest.
Wearing wild lily in my hair
i dance to blende each feather
to wings in wipping rarefactions
to thy music resonating heartbeats hshh! !
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem