Rotating platforms corrode Mercury streams to incense,
Premature crescendos morph into blind heritages,
Panting, flowering, magenta catacombs wind down sense
To a pulp of morning after imitation, the stage
Decking life as compulsory history for each age;
Starlets suffocate in the web's drainpipes, the pirate's bed
Multidimensionally squanders, exiles, judges the fed
And starved through the chase of dust challenging immense
Simplicity of everlasting dawns, the once untouched
Lantern cheapening dusk, a fairy light of lust, a gage
Unthought, as transmuted as breath, swelling from the last dense
Memory paralysing itself in all forms of silence
Rising from the omelette-making spine of a crying sage;
She's always dead, his long lost love, always expected.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Your ambition is remarkable. I admire it.