In their way, they see cyclops flying to hell
Vainly trying to get to heaven
And the wings are not theirs to keep.
And they beat in all the doors to open,
They beat but no one comes
And their skin is burning,
Outside is cold and they will never see their homes,
Their way is painted bloodly,
Their home is none,
Their souls have gone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem