When do you fall
moving backward? Is it real to
generate individuality? Two moons appear.
The prosaic attack
was beautiful. Like stone flowers.
The old young man was walking slowly.
Breathe my words,
my comas. Once spoken, the meaning
does not come back. Iron becomes lava.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Power metaphorical writing. Hits the target forcefully. Good poetic attempt.