Memories circle a covered wagon of yesterday, rehearsing
again, the magnitude of imagery and talented thought.
Alighting on the far side of adversity, changing patterns,
rearranging ideas, forlornly, musically, portraying silent
beings of unremembered childhood.
Sweeping across the plains unrelentingly, playing old
strains of inner musing on any given day.
Sliding across barriers, folding neatly, uncontested
dimensional frailty of a child onto itself.
Signing volumes of significant other beings, finding nothing
at all significant about them.
Torn between ancient lullabyes and future scheming to
allay fears brought to the surface.
Flashing back, not wanting to, but being thrown time and again
into paths of most resistance and sorrow.
Outlasting only fragrant aromas of blossoms dying on their
stems, life falls over as a petal floats to the ground.
Lying for a while looking up quietly, confessing life before
expiring.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem