Not being able to reach out a window to touch a bush being
blown about in the evening wind, unless using intellect and
sight to reach beyond the boundary of the wind, touching the
bush with my soul.
Feeling it sensuously touch me interiorly, coming alive and
finding my spirit being vibrantly made to respond with an
extraordinary sensing of it's total essence.
Being focused and alert to all outer aspects right before
me, entering into depths of another world hiding within me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem