Chest of golds, covered in thorns,
enclose the universe and its infinite thoughts
Mourning at the silence, creating forms.
The female forms, is the nature meanest beauty.
Draw by unwilling calmness, and chaste crops
Nest- less birds, bitter souls
Hold like clouds in the sky above.
Love is a cradle, rocked by waves,
on the ocean of calm laments, wrapped in soft wools and sobbing veil.
Where tears have forms of ablaze eyes, and diamond nights
blooming and shine at the infinite sky.
The different forms of dreams
Carry the remains of the unborn days
Escape at your eyes while you were awake,
maturing by your sleep of doubt and metamorphoses
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem