Amidst a horizon of sporadic seasons, stood
A wayward gambler of sangfroid optimism
Wreaking of departure in the eyes of an interlude
Cascading with a wintry streak of a prism
A rapine of the grandiosity banishing all subdued
Words that vessels emotions in taut surrealism
The aftermath of golden deluge and sullen drought
Fore the wintry rape and frosted cellars bolt
A beautiful shedding, the mist of copper hair brought
Comported in a poise deeming the sun a harlot
For corrupting the radiance it spun and wrought
Undeserving of abduction; a beautiful fault
Hoping for amends but the more it is changing
The more the season of withering remains mundane
With aloofness of untainted bliss, tethering
A tatterdemalion vagabond in a flee too profane
Erred and flawed hands can’t carry the bosom of the writhing
Season of falling a gambler can never abstain
Ephemeral autumn days encumbering perpetual bliss;
Dormant abrasion in a feigned cinched delusion
Should I resign a kiss? Should I deprive the mist
Of autumn yearning to be seized in revulsion?
Ambivalent in complacent hues of your own fist
Little yielding fist, wave your sweetest tides of gravitation.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem