Thoughts cogitate and blend into a symbolism of sorts,
an idol is a perfection of what we think of God in our
human minds.
Yet, one can look at birds sitting on a telephone wire
and still see God in all His simplicity and truth as we
watch, seeing them fly off in unison.
A configuration, a concept of God in a natural stance,
how exquisite He becomes amid this thought, an idea of
perfections formless, yet formed somehow within our
minds.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem