All wars are fought, all fears settled,
Much has been said, much written
On an empty easel, many dyes splashed
Aleatory verse or a sound in “old pond”.
Long silence, soliloquy, and a conversation
A song is whispered, a heart’s story told.
A cherished memory and a nightmare
On the tip of tongue a dream is held.
To your own world in solitude at last,
Why not kindle a fire, hidden in ash.
Demise of the fancy’s castle is just a fault away,
Tell the north wind not be an eye of the storm.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem