Sometimes life just chooses before you can
as if the trip ahead would be just memory
and all you did was simple in still motion
and now your thrown back deep
into silent devotion the motion
it then becomes emotion
and all things material
a temporal inconvenience
you cannot carry while your body
will become your burden
enjoys the wisdom as your chest
which breathes existing chants
your hands which can
-only balsam those of friends-
are peacemakers which turn turmoil
into a gift to reconsider
tenderness. M
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem