Behind the face, the skull within
The organ pulses.
Beyond the brain, the mind: a place
Hear the keening of the wind there
Salty lips are whistling
Tunes arcane to any tongue
Every grain of sand a mountain
Each drop of rain a sacred font
Is this the path through utter darkness
Or the highway to the blessed realm?
Time does not march here.
Return now to the world.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem