Darkening benefits of late nights spent in writing are
full of expectant hopes and quiet dimly-lit dreams.
Sonomic gazes stir the atmosphere where life sits,
patiently waiting to be explored and sifted through.
Exercising moments of time, letting them bloom out-
wardly and display their messages in neon catacombs.
Created and shown in signs, vitally circumcised and
laid to rest in books of rhymes eternally sought out
and read by many.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem