Thoughts are formless within one's mind
Thus Lent to it's wildness
So it requires utter vacuity to shape
A question
Words can only convey so much meaning
Thus lent to their multitude
So we require thousands of words
To answer
As we struggle to make sense of it all
With made up words, and shapeless thoughts
We pretenders
Believing to grasp the incomprehensible
And then we sleep
Enveloped in darkness' blissful caress
Soothing us from womb to grave
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem