It is of no use to ask why birds commend
the spirit of a day, nor how near their
song comes to sunlight.
We waken to such things, we come to avail
as an open sky...there is no question of
forbearance.
Unmoved as diamonds without valuation, the
light of day...the unseen inner light that
is not day.
The eyes open, and the feeling that sinks,
as yet rises...the first and last Frontier
can be seen at once.
Light is before flesh and bone, light is
after flesh and bone...the sun is merely
our concentration.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem