A man tried to climb a wall,
in despair, in rush, in anger.
The eagle's eye blinked for a second,
a thought,
but the path was chosen.
The light kept playing games with the holes of the eyes,
it was there, it wasn't there.
Hands grabbing even dust, whom the fingers,
felt heavier...
a little up, a little down.
No hesitation, the sky got clear,
above the clouds a hand appeared.
Inside the skin, rushing...
the blood.
Closer than the others, he
paid the cost.
The crowd of bones glared through the fog,
a storm of rocks hit them-
no hope.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem