Decorations hung, casting their designs and patterns on
passers-by, having no other purpose than to fill up space
upon the walls.
No color to them, just black ebony against a light-colored
wall, many people walking back and forth all the time, never
really looking or studying their intricacies.
Yet, this poet sees their flowing swirls, graceful like a
dance, touching my mind, then many angles criss-crossing over
one another, creating mazes indiscriminately.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem