Perspectives, like the weather, change
the light upon his day,
the winds of mood blow random clouds
and all they can convey
is rained upon his very views,
opaquely focus stares,
when suddenly the sun breaks though
and takes him unawares.
The warmly radiating glow
makes all around him clear,
so every thought that can sail by
is as it may appear.
Confidence then grows within,
to forecast all his deeds;
those storms upon horizons seem
merely the due proceeds
of extremes in contemplation,
where observation can relate,
accept the ever changing day,
adapt to its climate.
And so extreme conditions
are best suited to his kind,
but who'd predict that whether it
won't, in time, erode his mind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem