i have two hours before i head to sea
i should be writing this weekend nights
chasing that dream of thousand poems
maybe it's nothing to those who can't
understand, i could dump my prior poems;
be done with it but that doesn't interest me
i love that slow agony of focusing my thoughts
molding every fabric i can gather from within
enjoying reading the beautiful creation i've done
in turtle speed of this dreamer from antique hills
where nobody ever thought i should come from
it's a gift i pick up ever since i could remember
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem