اصل بول
ENترجمہ ابھی دستیاب نہیں۔ اصل بول دکھائے جا رہے ہیں۔
In passing, circular realms become dust
Faces wither to bone
Affliction given
But in the end forgotten
This is time’s acrimony
Casting a shadow
That wanders
But is never lost
Endlessly expanding
Yet to reach the plateau
With transparent presence
Somehow these silent waves echo
To be aware of this surreal embrace
And in the same moment realize
The fractal forms one shape
Of infinite parallels
Waiting to converge
A serpent’s circle returns in cold blood
Separating the primitive, recycling new meaning
From womb to grave
The distance covered is chosen
The past was never alive
What is will never die
Until this handless clock of chaos stops
