Angels sleeping in minds, peacefully dreaming,
knowing that things are alright for the time
being.
Not being troubled right now, relaxing and
being comfortable with passion and essence
keeping company through musical interludes.
Constantly touching an interior spiritual life
with their magical and mysterious patterns and
designs being coded into poems.
Continually falling from intellect and out of
pens through black ink, always producing
innermost thoughts on wave lengths of a brain.
As it manages to take in millions of details in
nanoseconds, and holding onto them all in a
photographic mind through life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem