100808
each whim itself a stunning end
a burst of passion inside it dives
downward all slide of energy it lends
but with such force it simply rives
fragments bleeding pool of blood
a whirlwind lost in emulsion spun
half a drought and half a flood
half lost, half overwhelms the bund
opaque red drowns the settlement
no hint of loss, no prize to win
but crimson lines the embarkment
flaked on the bed of rust therein
of lines forgot and ebbing fiction
no trace but that a seeping lesion
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem