The speed of light was the ultimate limit,
We had our ups and downs forming forever;
The speed of our souls was feeling,
Like the tactile units of planetary wars.
We feel moments of our brains, our pictures
Have abstained due to brains of existence,
These essentially absolve our sins
Like the pelting of photons at our eyes.
One too rosy a picture creates a photograph
Which everybody takes as something
Of knowledge, the feeling of memories
Creates external disgraces and denominations.
The hero of light transgresses, duty forbids us
As light combs its way to the plants of old,
Within the times we see a time of sixpence,
The cheapest fragments float in the airs of life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem