The sun in the East and the sun in the West is not the same one;
moments always summing up to paint the sky with shades of color changing.
In a caesura -- we discuss who is the painter and who the painted is
-a situation impossible
there always been a number of beginnings and a number of endings
and death always a beginning- a new moon on the other horizon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem