Into the valley of lost breaths shall I surrender
If shall I flop on this lane of harsh memories
Flourishing this ink dripping for what I were to render
If my soul shall journey through the portals of our bleeding faith
Devoted to the emetic lore
Roaming through the scene & scents of living brains
For memories at my face to ponder
Then I shall pick a page inheriting the age of my last victory
And stage it in these mortally lavished and dignified books
Which within my sweat and their frayed minds they ought to perish
But last as defaulted pieces of art
Versed within a clan of clean white walls backed with a hook
If shall I perish like the extinct bugs sweating for hope in modern lights
My name shall serve my fatally broken breath
Lost in the air mirrored only within my casket
To hath my absent site
When space inevitably seed life
And time had to harvest it profoundly
That shall then be the season of my last prints
Breathed oppositely to birth
And with death from life which wisdom had been compelled by the content acceptance of my humane stupidity
My brain shall therefore will human brains proudly.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem