The Solstice
In the land wich has no name, 
there, somewhere 
between darkness and the forgetting
 the grapes of dog wine 
grown
Vesna wore
 the gold of the mature wheat. 
The nourishment leaked
from her breast
the dry ground. 
The mercyless emperor of time 
measured 
the seconds 
between birth and return.                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
 
                     
                
Thank You from internal core