'...they returned by another road' (Mt.2: 12) .
We are a constellation of wills,
pale to brooding blues and purple dull.
The hooks of a thousand dense masses
disembowel our godly trunks -
thin our fire dint to dull black;
Fate's calm and circuitous zodiac.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem