Caught in the dreams a man wades
Through the sands of time that climbs
And climbs forever like the clocks of dying.
Shadows feel misery as they are tools,
Used for the dying of the memory,
As turning occurs to the mighty strengths
Of a thousand people in their thousand
Months overlapping.
A little hunting occupies the sound
Of the plentiful cups carrying wine.
The wine has dripped into the souls
Inflamed by the intoxication,
And the empathy has been expelled.
Caught in heaven as it yearns for life,
We feel betrayed so gradually that life
Is near the traits of the life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem