weaver in darkened room
blinks of blue tube thereon
gentle touch of fingertip laps
tracing fine silk lining straps
curtain forming buffer plane
painted innocent face remain
wondering, am i should be
whispers coming to say
dreams has grown wings
flies happily; voice sings
with calmness of waves
breath to newly born leaves
buds springing to greet the sun
with kissing dew; wetness bond
young tips of green on mossy twig
cradles a jewel; a beautiful rig
with sharp pen; wonderful mind
always looking, listening to sign
in the quietness of lofted souls
searching old hidden scrolls
with a sigh; bubbling chest
borne desire, ultimate quest
growing from mighty fingertips
ease, extinguish by sweet lips
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem