contentment simply is - but mind seeks reasons
and therefores afterward, as if it mattered
what caused such pleasantry to come in season
or wherefore it has gone when it be scattered.
but thought itself disintegrates sensation.
endeavoring to own through definition
does naught, but to distract the soul's elation;
dissheveled by the constant inquisition.
far better to experience emotions
without exploring much how each was fashioned.
whatever name be given for the ocean
does little to reveal it's sudden passion.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem