after a while
one realizes
this world is
to wide for me
and the butterfly
too fragile for
its rock kind of winds
how i wish to change
a mountain?
the horns of the
buffalo are no
match for its
cliffs
so here you are
sitting on a chair
away from the mountains
facing the sea
on a journey
towards an endless
horizon
when the mind is
blank and
bland
to an open window
air comes and goes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem