Mountains, canyons, and rivers.
In the material and abstract they're nature.
We never were receivers, nor givers.
We were never indecisive, nor were we sure.
Mountains, tall and grand,
Might one see it as an obstacle?
On the other side lies a land,
In abstract and material, is much like a miracle.
Canyons, deep and daunting,
Might one see it as a rift?
Separated from one so loved, you stand staring.
Stand upright from where you lie; I'll give you a lift.
Rivers, soothing in a mellifluous flow,
Might one see it as their life?
By dawn and dusk you row,
Through a flow devoid of strife.
Mountains, canyons, and rivers.
We've seen them as ourselves.
And through realization in form of shivers,
We see sentience in us that delves.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem