Does one count the footsteps when
he has trekked a long way down?
Turning back to see the pot-holed track
is rare for memory sees only the crest.
Passing moments encrypted in mind
like a star, shimmering and yet afar;
Moments for which the heart craves,
mind sings a harmonious tune.
It’s as sublime as the dawn’s breeze
or the twilight’s parting golden wave;
They keep the veins coursing through,
steady the rugged vessel on its course.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Yes, very true said, just look back and see at least once a while...beautiful poem..