My mind is starved of any sublime thought today
Simply blank of religion, of mystical spirituality
Just floating, floating like soft high white clouds
Wind blows, clouds take shapes, any shapes while I am simply staring
My writing is reflecting how I feel, drifting, undetermined, like sweet notes the song is played
Let’s see what is being played, oh, it one of my favorite, Michel Pepe’s la Purete du Coeur
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem