What a sad waste!
Greatly sad.
A waste! , reminded, she knows....
..of all her woes, continuously
born from all she manifested
dichotomously
No waste in just knowing.
Going! and Done! ,
With all slack
wavering in & out the Black.
The luxury & distaste
In waste in such gross haste.
The awe found in her
unsound bounds.
This & that, is...The Waste.
Her lying nods
to praises of uncommon odds
mysteries of victories.
Miracle? , No.
Magic? maybe.
Wastes of mystery, magic
and even her history.
Bouts of proud
and guilty vices.
Cursed? Blessed?
Twice, more than thrice
for maybe a few to know
her legends of untouched
mastery & talents.
Zen laments with fickle resents.
Waste of true tales & stories
Untold.
With words and recurring dreams
that inspire any soul's vision
with blinding lush illusionary envisions.
Entrancing tangible beauty
that blends and bends
A heart always in the mend
balanced perfections
even with a youth never
knowing affections.
Cheered waste
heedless distaste.
Wastage of unstoppable
undefinable moves
of check and mate.
Born feared? , Revered?
Omni transcendence
always in remembrance.
Truth in vociferance, remains
for the skeptic stains
in waste of mental dimes
in tragic wasted times.
'not of mine', she knows.
In a serene glow she nods
for this mission never to plateau
in what others will never come
to feel and truly...know.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem