A blind end. No pain.
The path leaves, washing the
inside and outside. My carafe breaks.
Where will the water go?
Can we create a silence of nothingness?
The materials scream in a loud voice.
The abnormal looks beautiful.
I search for the answers in the dark.
My thoughts shout, My art was stolen.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem