Walking the likes of a desert
In a Love-thirst
When yet on streets, burnt-lain
Hot blown again
Upon oases stagger I;
Weaker-knead, come.
To drink of what do uprise
Does shape for eyes.
Past defeated tone's "mirage"?
Self-doubt's adage!
Only into forgetfulness
Sinking, confess.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem