Scurrying footsteps resound in the hallway,
Opening torment to flowers of the tree,
That are suddenly angered by the topics
Aroused by the noises of the hallway.
They become alive like thinkers of destruction,
Restoring their own health and fighting bliss,
Such bliss is their restoring, and such bliss is sound
And valid like the philosophies of the hall.
My one bottle flies towards the post at the end,
Fire has wreaked its havoc forming tension
On the highways of thoughts, the embroidered
Thoughts like galaxies of jewellery, that mattered.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem