No more the futile running for proper effulgence
In such moment abnormal with weakening Sun
Unable to lit up the earth internal with swiveling passion,
Passion for acknowledging the stars in haven
Passion for recounting the legacies enlivened
And the wicked denials by remorseless corpses
In ugly meditation for rechristening the wounds of malice
In weird dedication to obliterate the bosom of moon incorporeal,
No more blitzkiding of the generations in grave default
At a slumber premature forever to dodge the eclipse.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem