One moon was yours,
one moon was mine I am very
agitated by Ars Poetica.
At the south of the pain
you were becoming my shadow writing
on the terra cotta, temple love was combed.
The tyrant cyclone brings
a beautiful dark moon, and I am
ready to become a martyr.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
There is good writing in these verses, and though I do not have complete understanding of all the lines, I can see that the poetic expressions in them have merit as poetry. Good read