old masters were the winners -
the shining ones. golden
suns snow white bright,
with a fingertip
they lit the big roar.
infinity
chopping a wooden block
Perhaps I'm on a totally different train her for what I see is not golden but dips deep in darkness. Well poetry is in the eyes of the beholder after all...The mysterious flavor or your poetry is inviting.....
Old is gold. Old masters were slaves to their trade but the new ones are enslaved by financial considerations. But at times, it is said, Old wine in new bottle.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
they lit the big roar. infinity... fantastik fantastik... You write so beautiful poet: depth, art, style... congratulations by dr. Riza