I am selling my age.
Going stone in market. Honestly
I have exhausted my thoughts.
Midnight syndrome begins.
The salt of my lips had disappeared.
A cruciform face hangs in the air
IS this inertia of the brain?
I am conscious of the yellow moon.
Howling of the wolves will start.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
An excellent piece! Thanks for sharing! !