Reflections being shed in darkness, losing the luster of illumination from daylight suffusion.
Interconnected with playful raptures, singing in the background, giving explanations for past ideas.
Saturating themes with the same old techniques, while losing a lot of creative juices, because they aren't poured onto screens of photographic memories and put on display for only one to see.
Until, that is, the whole experience is set on paper, words filling everyone's sight with the visions hidden behind them.
Solid omens, stationary, keeping the life of literature alive for exhaustive periods, sentencing all the beautiful picturesque memories to life imprisonment in my mind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem