my conceptions,
a small cardboard box
jammed with reality
till it bursts, and spills over...
open minded?
how could a grain of dust
blowing through infinity
be any other way?
how can a candle
pretend to be a star?
how can the sound
inside the shell call itself
a wave?
how can a blind man
paint the sunset?
my conceptions,
...just a nuisance!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
So much to ponder on here, excellent poem.