Blue moon of white night, wants―
to bring down the sky
in a spiritual bliss.
Talking of reincarnation,
I am skinned alive, like
a cadaver, talking ceaselessly.
You are burning sans fire.
In absence of god, you
become a god father
to a beautiful progeny.
Leave aside the lineage.
On the horizion, a flock
of swans was returning
home to spread the watercolors.
The recluse comes out from the oblivion
to greet the inevitable.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem