rain slashes
through emerald trees:
a summer's day
duly converted
into greyscale perfection
Quaker-grey thought patterns
secretly flirt with
neon
and rainbows
screaming in our
sacred
so-called
'silences'
none of which
necessarily
mark out
or in any way indicate
meditative moments
or spiritual quietude
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem