Do we indulge in natural feasts?
The feasts of beautiful food are hued
And flared with wonderful fruity smells,
Born from the springs of above,
Lit by the commands of a lantern involved
In heaven and hot furnaces of the deep.
Is it the smell of luxury or deceit?
One of the deepest soaps seems to us,
The sense is the intelligent curse,
It is intellectual from the fear.
A natural feast is a hot furnace, soaps
Involve their glare and stare on the senses.
A melting void is like an universe in fatal
Joy, in panic of food and drink that springs up.
The naturalness is a gift of the white walls,
The black and grey walls penetrate the walls
Encasing us in hotness and coldness also.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem