The tortous lightings that
Light in my mind-brain
Are saddened by you
Mother.
In the womb of thought
And
In the womb of enunciation
Principles boil in to
The forge of suffering.
And suffering be
Directly proportional to
Saddening.
Sad, sad, sad
Mother.
The tortous lightings that
Light in my mind-brain
Are saddened by you
Mother.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem