Constant tactile interruptions of writhing indignation
appear in various circumstances, calculating their
value on rims of paradise and equilibrium.
Sounding off on priceless antiquity, fractions of
moments are lived wholly alone.
Sacrificing a myriad of innate decisions, we are
carried forward onto shores of being by waves of
eternity, reeling from a momentary reality.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I cannot claim to understand all of this but I can appreciate its poignance It reminds me in an extended way of a haiku with the centre lines cutting and turning. This rolls of the tongue beautifully Ty karen