Inviting words to come sway
Under the limelight of a thought
Then,
Watching them sit for a heavy rest
On pearly pages,
After drinking sufficient ink
And filling up with the Beloved's whispers
Or perhaps,
Witnessing how feet enliven
With arched steps and beautiful rhythm
Going quick, quick, slow
The dancer becomes the dance
Hearing a music that never dies,
The artist
Lets the strings of his guitar
Be played by the Mover in his fingers
Resonating towards inert walls
Instilling them with joy and life,
As a cloth eager to radiate its texture
Bringing tints and angles to a nude body,
Spontaneous expressive acts of the Heart
Carry without realizing,
The signature of the Eternal.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Ayni, in the artistry of all beginings everything came to be. Mother Nature with her pallet has imbued her colours. Short of eternal they are surely heading that way. Your poem is imaginative and touches on the eternal.