A sanctuary, this studied room -
a sacred place without divinity.
Here he first began to scour
the weed-strewn paving of his mind -
thought-loads of words strove to devour
his piety.
The books, which thronged
his living space, provided sustenance -
a new found grace.
Alone,
a hermit walled in by abstractions,
striving to fill a god-shaped absence
with well-honed words.
Roomed in his study, studying his mind,
vacuity - that most tenacious weed -
has left him blind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem