Out weighed by only standing time.
I have fled into some distant land.
Hot this land your fingers have,
I begot.
Memories you can never trade,
I forget.
Fire and ash I have come and gone.
Wind and foam,
and none are mine to you, all are.
Coming I am sand and I am dust.
How could one not but know of this?
Unless when time again, I it permits
Why must I wait, upon your turn again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem