Tactfully enjoying thoughts being shaped in ovens of
subconsciousness, playing with their atoms, rearranging
their magnitude with lilting tones of regularity.
Attaching them to storms of incongruity, to wander
through life.
Growing interiorly with a quality of timid rejoicing in
novel modes of thinking, while relying on bland days of
laziness and basic needs for a semblance of living.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem