Priest or thinker,
you wanted a moral engagement.
Moon shined,
You were waiting for a
prophet or saint.
It was pointless,
boat will not arrive. Standing
on beach, your journey ends here.
The sun was too hot. The
umbrella conceals the face
of a motivator. Nobody wants
to touch the fast of dead god.
Irisis shrink. Hole becomes
larger. Now I cannot hate myself.
The blue jewels have become lumps
of wasted stones.
You start diverting
the green death of infallible,
and become real.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem