I open the door and find
A key to open others.
My pen is used to write
The majestic lines of the past.
If stationary objects betray
The fixtures of time,
Then my work is nothing.
So write me a poetic aroma
Where the brilliance shines
Like clusters and galaxies,
Surmounting the pierced knife.
I offer my heart to those with
Doors to open and shut,
Finding these people is a concern
From the soul that unites
Dreams and more scenes,
The twists of the pen are afire.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem