Softly touching grey matter with the fingers of my
mind, feeling it's texture, smooth with indentations.
Wondering how it can think, differentiate and plan,
keeping us alive and vibrant until through our senior
years.
Always alert, working, awakened even in our sleep,
waiting, mind forever shaping verses of poetry to be
read by mankind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem