.
Every midnight rises,
More of the sun in the eastern sky,
And the things beyond mortal knowledge,
Land on the archetypal highs.
Troops of moral survivals, - deny,
The sway of plundering wheels,
And build the Skeleton from their blood,
Upon the desert from their toil.
Thrust into isolation and self exile,
They with their own ships open profiles.
Nowhere, nowhere in the land of devil and vice,
The captain in the night-journey elsewhere tries.
The guilty conscience of what might have been,
And the psychic –ravages on moral wings,
Supply petrol to unroll the Unconscious,
In the voyage to remote myth in life’s research.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem