The heart attacked a route that a Damascus inhabitant
Vowed he would travel, since midnight the staying was painful.
The city bustled boisterously like the bleeding veins,
Corpses piled up from the hearty man whose sore arteries
Affected a gallop of a man, the full gallop of tower-like
Entities, a skyscraper called him a lout and designer.
The town is fierce with standard kisses and tears,
Streets sell you apples of toffee, oranges of blood-red,
Pears of beauty, and pomegranates of hearts.
Corpses fill the designing shops, desperate refugees
Amass, and storm the palaces, feeding revolution,
Like a Marx or a Kant, forcing joys and narrow pains.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem