There are places I won’t go
Caves not meant for me to know
Layers couched in hidden veils
Ragged sailors’ phantom tales
There are fountains hid from view
Rustling in a thickened dew
Coursing out of sacred sites
Etched in ruins of primal rites
There are sights I must not see
Paths of prisoners who flee
Refugees with knotted sacks
Bulging on their sweaty backs
There are faces very rare
Shaped by years of pain and care
Eyes I would not dare to meet
Hallowed hands and timeworn feet
I won’t stand on holy ground
Nor approach a hallowed mound
Seeking for a rock or word
Few have ever seen or heard
May I wander close to home
Fill my shoes with sandy loam
Never look beyond the fence
Shunning danger’s recompense
Let this be my only goal
Eating gruel from a bowl
In a little wayside spot
Daily welcoming my lot
Let me relish each small breath
Feel my pulse averting death
Thankful for each moment’s hue
Ever giving You Your due.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
'Thankful for each moments hue ever giving you your due', a poem of being present in the moment, grateful.