Heavy and winking, a travelled humanoid
Disfigures the flowering body of burning effects.
A mind is settling down in a vault too tiny,
By the stars it seems the wastes of the heavens
Are too late, along the abysses of unseen nature.
My sharp, productive sounds are receding too early,
Fixing what is highly conducive to pride from above,
A glittering jewel sits atop a mountain summit,
With lightning thirsty, or surprising nobody,
So sharp are the bright lights stinging the stains
On one's belly, bettering once the butter melts.
I see you drive your eyes in my direction,
Sounds are alive like white menacing caves
Inside the very caves.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem