I have given up dreams,
to make seasons from my blood.
They will rise up from my body
like lost souls on the Ganges,
and walk on the streets with beggars
lighting a fire on their walls.
Shades of neon in all the moments of twilight
capturing lights of the other days
When a sea gives up her solitude to the corals-
madness is reduced to hunger,
and the sea moves to the other side of the coin.
I have given up dreams,
to borrow one hundred light years of life
from your nights.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A very silvery poem. Captivating. But, yet, I have a feeling I haven't grasped its theme.