Recognizing rhythms in everyday attitudes, playing them
quietly, gently in tune with my writing.
Creating fastidious moments to enjoy throughout a lifetime
of poverty.
Selecting to see music as it fills me mentally, creating
an atmosphere of novel ideas, and visions of images to
choose from.
Recreating feelings with the energy of true beliefs held
onto for ages and kept tucked away in chests of steel.
When opened one day, they will still be glistening, rust
will not have been a part of them.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem