In one hour,
Her eyes made all the possible acrobats;
Her lips were out side, walking with the moon;
Her voice rose, flattened, collapsed, then vanished into the sandy dune;
Her eyebrow were sometimes playing Tai Chi,
sometimes engaged in a furious ravaging combats;
Her hands were a story of lost and found;
Her face revealed thousands of archives,
a story of a flower, a woman, a human, and
an infant caught between bower and power.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem