I calculate the deaths
inconceivable to save the shame
of trembling poinsettias.
Sometimes I start
walking to reach the horizon
where the panther wears parchment.
What was the coercive
action of monks, who would
remain hungry till sun sleep?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful poetry. You are great dear poet. You are indifferent, impartial. moreover, I admire your sincerity, maturity and consistency. May God increase your tribe!