the flames breathe to breathe in
a heart made of stone to turn it into dust
and sitting alone squatted by the wave
no water could steal a drop of your dream
no touch of salt in a long distance thought
stealing a grain of call
could measure the last atom of air
and walking alone into the corridors
of light and shade long forgotten sights
lie and despair of a single end
taken into tears broken within an untrodden path
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem