Up from the minds that aspire,
Glowing more than any fire.
Creatin' thousands of images,
For everything is just smoke.
*
A piece of paper that is so brown,
Comes crashing down.
Just a touch of ash,
And everything is broken.
*
Millions of false imaginations,
All wound up as creations.
Wasting time in the unreal,
For which will never happen.
*
In this district so lonely,
Filled with memories only.
Near the bays of the river,
Come up will it ever.
*
Up from the minds that aspire,
Glowing more than any fire.
Creatin' thousands of images,
For everything is just smoke.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem