Forests of vacancies, freeing the essence of inner beings,
living in recesses of a future open meadow filled with
flowers and blossoms of exquisite fragrances, aromas and
colors.
Stringent, wholly together, cupping desires into chalices
of wine, prepared solely for the emptiness of a lonely
evening spent between four walls, no one to talk to.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem