He is a nervous empathy,
With aquiline countenance,
And he dare to meet those,
Dull stream of obliterated faces.
As in the wavy sea he is wave-less.
Every fiber of him seemed electrified,
And a pause tolled him to the soul level,
He impressed monumental strangeness,
In all his open-familiarity, to visitors.
Misty, sensuous, and dreamy look,
Lapped the viewer with metaphysical cords,
Without a lone-sailor, within a psychic lord.
Arts in his touch, merge with memory,
As if the whole Unconscious, mirrors its story.
His is a plastic, that blends rainbow,
He is read, before the readings go.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem