My mind is like a jet,
ideas I have, hidden away,
not thought of yet.
My mind keeps going, going, fast as a train,
only at rest stops, do I wait
my thoughts, are simple and plain,
of poetry, do I love
sitting down at my desk,
floating along, like a dove
to survive, and to live,
the words shall flow
and to the world, I will give
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Yes, I know what you mean by this. Mind can never rest, can it? I think it's wonderful. To write is to experience things more completely. The mind is always alert for something to turn it's attention toward The brain is ever scanning for patterns and sychronicities...