That day you found
time’s precipice
and never faltered –
to plunge beyond
or else traverse
the tremulous ridge path –
each spelt out welcome
each a warm retreat.
The beckoning remembrance
of worlds created
by the mind and sense –
the wraiths in combat, those
still present
and others already
moved on.
That day you breathed
time’s fall, and fell back
wreathed in living hours.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem