there is often turmoil
in the innermost
reaches of my soul
before the words
begin to take shape
and ignition has begun.
the eventual reward,
so illusive at times,
is total tranquility
in the whole essence
of my being
till the following onslaught
looms on the horizon of
this exiled existence
and the whole circle begins again -
conception, germination,
growth, expounding,
digestion and formation
into a whole
in the onsuing
creative cosmos
of things.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem