The birds are words for the day of festivals,
Their flight overwhelms me with praise of the
Certainties in the hearts of men on the grass and
Ground.
Goats can outrun me with lies to bring boots
Into play, deciphering their horns, championing the
Race with flying troubles, certain gestures wheel
Into us.
Ghosts and ghouls are not so nasty as princes
In the snow grounds, with cold wastes in the distance,
Flight of dynamic men is the flight of birds, with
Wings.
Let birds swallow hearts with songs of cherished beliefs,
This is the laughter of the heavenly mountains
And streams, an output of trains and cars too competent
In thought.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem