Slowly pushing rhythm, pulsating beats touching interior senses, bringing them to an awakening of knowledge in musical intonations and tempos.
Anticipating new chords as they are written to poetical terms, exchanging memories for many meaningful words set in literate frames.
Touching sorrowful images, crying into chalices as dirges are played silently in quiet chapels of contemplative lives, always kept in mazes of intelligence.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem