Scratches on the window pane lock the sparse moon light.
Chinks on the wall are involved with hatching a secret conspiracy.
The dream is one and only one.
Greek mythology is not inside the room.
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Alexander is not on that book shelf.
He is honing his swords; The entire world will be captured today.
Helen is not resting on the remnants of time.
She stands everyday by my side in my sleep.
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Homer still has many things to write.
Iliad, Odyssey are the creations of his heydays.
He will write. Let him write.
Blindness is just a pretext.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem