Striking while the iron is hot, mind melding
with depths of an interior spirituality.
Digging deeply into edges of another horizon,
quietly designing patterns to be used later on.
Knowing curly waves that come crashing against
my being, will silently knock me over.
Sinking into the ocean's depths, being swallowed
by it's beauty and constant crashing against shore.
Sending rhythms into a never-ending tumultuous
rhythm of life.
Singing tones that come foaming from beneath the
waves.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem