Math's Poem
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.