For your intellect,
The artist makes you,
His head bed.
As you read his art,
You wonder and share,
As you are a per-dominating link,
Within your unconscious,
Stored are the things.
The body has its plasticity,
And the artist stimulates its floor,
You discover the opening of hidden doors.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem