Let me know again the stretched pleasures of chance,
Past this static swivel of melancholy; the night sky flashes a spark that wakens the soul's dead terminals. Mutterings of thunder echo the delirious pounding on a deafened sky, and i see yet an apparition, behind the glassy door. The flashing hand reaches again for the handle, and the outpour sudden, crashes the bulwark of harmattan, wetting my heart of its cracks. Again, the season of love.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
the seasons of love. Good work really.