After the monologue, you
stand on the other side of the moon,
when between lines, nothing was left.
The words were echoing.
Nameless, white knuckles, would not
stay in the pantheon feeling me.
Overpowered, manipulation begins
polarization. Nevertheless the integrity
stays in toxic air, to enchant the mirage.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem