I'm listening to the gale's rage.
The hiss of moving wind.
It whispers in my ears.
And bring the jaw-dropping news.
Reasonating my tympanic membrane.
In a perfect harmony.
This hour.
With its boastful thunder.
Still brings no rain.
I plead for your tear.
Oh heaven.
Come feed my paper face.
And flow me away.
With my tattered temptations.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem