The growing grass slopes were surmounted 
by the sky of death, by confused 
thoughts and by a smoking moon.While taking a deep, 
crouching breath, a greedy beast started 
to eat the world.There 
were incessantly blowing shadows 
and a wind emerged from them...
On a blind stitch of the night, the man was 
following his yellow horse.
His outstretched hand painted 
the horizon with gestures 
while waiting to be filled with misery. The famine 
driving through the naked reality became 
the cry of this wind. Feared to see 
and hoped to be
at the bottom of this unknown darkness with the levers 
of stars threatening the horizon, the sadness, 
and the itchy confidences. 
As a footstone, his motionless horse 
didn't seem to suffer.The old man 
was talking alone
about his wariness, about the depths, 
and about the night of memories.
With brooding gestures, he tried to understand
the immensity of the unknown.
He pointed to a vague and ignored place 
populated by people.
The tabernacle wasn't accessible, 
nor was it locked to hide a crouching god, 
who wanted to bury his chin and his knees, 
while he was staring his eyes off.
Some gusts flurried through the branches. 
This wind could grow while
the blown horizon constantly expanded.
A new dawn started to revive the dead sky 
while huge flames were bloodying the darkness 
without clarifying the unknown.
The man lit a candle.
Poem by Marieta Maglas                
So many cry their God's it's hard to see the moving mist as smoke unseen so I wait for words to take me to that place where words are heard...iip
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Encryption in a blender makes a good drink especially with a pinch of melancholy. I love your poem, a lot of depth and with some of what is rarely seen, Great job.