When the,
returned voices,
broken into mysterious,
dark rooms,
straight from the roof of trenched,
caves telling the wispered,
realities to timekeeper hands,
of deliberately woven traps.
until shadowless warrior,
with their ugly swords,
moving back from safe havens,
with curse of grimness,
over running the walls made,
from skulls of enemies,
of time-honoured kingdom.
and merciless taboo,
roaring on sun sets.
hunting for the flower grazing,
monsters.
and blood of blackbirds, and
seedless plants,
burning to mellt the snows,
with clearing the footprints,
of their ancestors,
leading to ended roads,
over the green valleys,
where virgins with basket of,
flowers giggling in green and red having shower in rain with sunshine and rainbow,
are waiting with welcome songs.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem