The Snowy Flower

I barely talk to snowy flower much of the time; the winter season is at my sullen hand, but I can hear the rattling sounds of azure-wind at my unlatched door--shrieking, soaring, unpremeditated sea!

Wriggling in mountainous time, tamed, bleached and blanched in arid-fire----frontier time at hand 

Crafty, knavish, like a trickster of magical land 

Confrontation face to face on the sulking sand. 

The love once splattered out, the soul is almost fallen through the spilled out rivers and unforgiving cities----dry river makes no cacophonic sounds, forgotten season at hand-----the garden is deserted now...

I hardly talk to snowy flower much in the winter time; the queer light on the brazen face, no grace, for only I can view the ignominious soul lurking on the naked wall, brewing pain at hand---booming river is empty now...

The love is inmost, the ocean is about to fall, 

The empty-vessel is flowed now----a few snowy flowers are at hand----granite time is now-----gigantic waves are falling down, cessation and creation at hand now ...

The frail-barrage, the perforated paper, the broken clock----lonely I walk, the frozen lakes are bewildered and winter-winnowing flowers are at hand-----the snowy flowers have variegated colours, many lovers and many ages-----eternal love is at hand now, dead leaves are flapping and stirring rain...

The blue bird sings and the sea sobs,

Stimulation in the heart of winter flower 

Bare hills and caressing moon throbbing at hand now----forlorn world and distant stars