Take my honey and all my belongings,
But if the soul requests it from a genius
One must take his own belongings.
The flowers of a night are like the flowers
Of a day, rich in pinky hues,
Blue love, and red heart.
Take my loving and hating as well,
Souls pinch a single salt granule,
Then brine roars through the eyes.
Why are you crying? These tears are fountains
Of dusty earth, feeling like controversy,
Lulling the night with raging noises,
Then take my honey when I belong to you
As the reuniting of the villages has happened.
My struggle is coming back,
Hard on the list, soft to the hill,
We fetch disaster and avalanches,
Catastrophes are afoot,
Like a river of ice or cold, cold water.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem