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.