So many stars will be impregnated in this night of speeding soil. 

The baffled spectators, musicians from madhouses

all are going to withdraw in silence. 

Time will bring cannibalism, I know…

That’s how all the moving shadows will fade,

All in the stomach of fuming desert. 

I have my machine of motions; you know…

I will go up to the last stones of these roads, 

and measure the distance in number of mute woods. 

There’s always a gravitational sensation in distances, 

distant longings, far away sweethearts with unbuttoned breasts…

All these impotent expressions make chaos of highest orders,

they make these pregnant stars. 

I know one day we will finish counting all the sand grains of this world, 

And It will be quite futile to continue after that also.

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