To arrange words
In some order
Is not the same thing
As the inner poise
That's poetry.
The truth of poetry
Is the truth
Of being.
It's an experience
Of truth.
No ornaments
Survive
A crucible.
Fire reveals
Only molten
Gold.
Says Tuka
We are here
To reveal.
We do not waste
Words.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem