In its war-chariot the sun rides thought the blue sky
and every day at a hellish-speed he passes by
leaving scorch marks that do remain
while its wheel-tracks leaves an impression on the brain
where after every dark night he hangs high
or satin-smooth his face radiates on those that he does love
where upon biological life he does glow from up above
while radiant he smiles and the hours do fly
and every day at a hellish-speed he passes by.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem