This is nearer to the trees, fully awkward,
An award has reshaped my mapped life;
Like the touch of breakfast, the forming meal
Of the paper-like day, rocky hills stagnate the time.
Away from wonder is the delight,
The sun stood in the sky of silver
To complain erroneously and abhorrently,
With a yellow shine and silvery line.
My forest beside the vegetables bends to the side,
My ripe path branches separately, to even worry
Like our souls that hurt due to presentations,
That heavily hang on the wrapped boxes, the breakfast.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem