Broken chair walk in cloud of gravel spine
Yet montanes cry of lost voices
Deserts have been encroached by stamps of death
Claws of wind tearing shielding rocks if desolate soul
Calm and rough
Tiny and wide
The echoe of death chase mad dogs
Into pit of hell
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Much deeper than my work my friend very thought provoking