Obduracy of thoughts in a maelstrom of ancient ash is hidden...within inpasse of that dark lake.
Vulnerable are we who preserved it,
thieved the fractions of eternity
so to flood them in abysm.
Out of depth echic thoughts searching for space.
In a labyrinthine laughter and sorrow, sobs of the Universe emerge, as trakker,
heavily neigbouring and washing off the reminiscence.
Thoughts slowly rending their petals enfolded by my skin.
We are impelled through burked eiderdown of some stone wing bird.
Incubated...just about to take a new breath that gust turns into fire.
Ash is falling in my eyes and parches the ink that penned these thoughts.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem