Intoxicated by worldly pleasures,
And bitter sweet odours of faux flowers,
The lost, feral children of the dust,
Drift aimlessly & chase after shadow dreams.
The neon gods they worship distract them
From the blessed realms of ultimate concern.
Their hearts prefer to dwell in the house of mirth
Rather than the house of wisdom & sorrow.
O the deserts grow deep within their souls.
Novelty's futile pathways lead to despair.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem