Math's Poem

The rectangular room is crowded for a while,

the curved lines intersect in the breath of the moments.

Not a single circle of possibility is completed, Harakshane pierces the edge of the compass.

Let's find a measure of the angle of a relationship, that is, to what extent the heart intersects.

Life breaks down at right angles to Arzu, and then extends to the point of death.

I am the space between two parallel lines, 

the chains of emptiness bound by me.

And finally ...

Come on life, sit down for a while, 

you are more tired than me.