Guitar wailing loudly, capturing the attention of this open
mind, swiftly sliding and picking up rhythms as they contin-
ually exercise their prerogatives in this earthly life.
Peculiar to others, but not to this mere poet who lives for
them, having them embroidered into the fabric of this being,
enjoying the steady beating of this open heart as it continues
to hide all heartache in life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem