The river does not ask the stones
why they shape its flow.
The tree does not seek approval
for the reach of its branches.
The stars are silent,
unconcerned with their reflection in the sea.
The wind does not linger
to hear its name in whispered breath.
Each thing moves
as it must.
Not waiting for permission
to exist,
to fade,
to be.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem