From a frail pen flows this trickle of thoughts,
Not to be heard but seen,
But what can be seen of change,
For we ourselves are the ones who change,
That which we have done does not change,
But we change to do,
What we want to do.
Our change is at the mercy of every one else,
like a friend I thought I had understood,
But from familiarity rose contempt,
From contempt rose understanding.
Understanding gave rise to change...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem