We crumble the night on a golden plate
and spatter the milky rhythm
of the spirit
Shall we find it
Shall we remove
the root
The moon peers at us
The sticky strands tie
our frail arteries in a knot
Bitter are the shadows of the barbarian key
when the sieve that bears us
decays
This dark onrush will not settle
in our nucleus
We rage!
(Translated into English by Marija Girevska)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem