Contentment is neither here nor there.
What we comprise and are is like the blizzard.
Ache and bliss tend to come and go.
Glory is with us ubiquitously
And in the bright sun shall years burn away
Like children once again, we become
Demanding neither lucidity nor profit,
Nor compassion where the torrents of joy might lope.
There is a wilderness in each of us
Enormous and uninterrupted, a hushed liberty,
Unending, immortal and full of elegance,
Recycling the leftover of our anguish.
Thus, may you walk in splendor far more dazzling
And durable than what diminishes before your eyes,
Triumphing in a love that never conk out
Yet finds its way along the border of darkness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem