Looking around, seeing roses hanging from the ceiling,
oozing their aromas into my mind with powerful scents
of desire, giving many thoughts, ranges of deserts to
play around in.
Nothing comparing with the ideas of blossoms
continually bursting with colorful ideas, letting them
fall gently into my mind, never hurting or harming me
in any way whatsoever.
A beautiful series of renditions happening every time
I look up and see roses hanging from the rafters,
oozing beauty into my intellect.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem