Sometiems I feel like the night can carry you away
The faster I run, the more quickly does the shadowed chariot take you
Hidden beneath gold, your eyes burn red,
No passion comes from those salty lips
At your hip is the fate of people
Brutally slain by over thought, detestable, insensitive words
Carefully picked
From the unbarring grape vine
Bittersweet; lay it in my mouth of memories
Speaking in tounges only few understand
Harboring truthful desires
It doesn't even nourish an ounce of soil
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem