In blind of night he wakes.
the ship has: not a rock,
nor has it a quake.
It drifts,
washing slow,
of doubtful ambitions
the sparks of cigarette
disturb the parish dark,
being confounded only;
else by light of moon.
ad hoc fumes
perish in absent light,
leaving virgin
sky untouched;
cloudless as it were
on the water
the waves semblant
are none other than
ripples of its existence;
but a mockery of
perseverance.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem