These things I have noted
From dream saturated consciousness:
A trickle of lacerated light,
In the smoking ruins of deceit;
Bleak, belligerent symbols,
Freed from the tyranny of language;
Splinters of repressed memory,
In a glazed, perpetual present;
The pale, ravaged spectre of the real,
Amidst the graveyard of illusion
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem