Sitting here peacefully in a hot quiet afternoon, letting my
mind go blank and be replaced by rhythms being heard in the
distance of intellect.
Increasing with age, the amount of poetry written and held
so closely within.
Unhesitant textures filling inner intellect with unheard of
beats until I have written them in words.
Even then not everyone can hear their melodies playing softly
behind the notes, reverberating.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem