Writing, trying to catch up to the tempo and rhythm, striking up a conversation within my mind.
Keeping track of every word, as it measures itself into all the poems expected of them.
Grasping all exercises of beauty and folding them into beautiful packages of music's melodies.
Taking every chance to be rearranged leaving all words everlastingly by, on a table of inner photographic memories.
Staying aloft, soaring along motionless points of forgetfulness, taking every one of the stanzas left in melody's hands and giving all that I can, as justice folds inside upon itself.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem