I am stunned by the magic of this vulgar item,
It is lopsided, sentimental for me, rousing
Artistic quality, and being primitive, like a desolate
House that needs ownership, fulfilling wishes.
I thrive with thirst, and this vulgar object makes
Me want water, and more water, like the feeble side
To living this world of war and unhappiness,
Of darkness and deceit, the other half called sorcery.
I am ensorcelled, like a feeble rock or boulder,
On the verge of suicidal tangle, a feeble condition.
I am stunned, astonished, and alacrity is a sorry act,
An ability overtakes me in the lane of my choice.
The object is kinder than my staggering relief,
It is like a barren mansion at the other half of nature,
Little by little the ball is a tall object, the object is
Sodden by the rain, as it rocks and sways to my clock,
Feeding a frenzy after becoming sweltering.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem