Death is in the birds that fly
And in the morning sunrise
Together life and death abide.
Silence is the death of me.
That silence without a centre
That does not know,
Is attached to nothing
And does not compare,
Just sees, feels and hears
In space that thought cannot enter.
In that timeless silence,
Alone, with no fear or pain,
Innocence is,
And death is in the heart of love.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem