Like theives in the night, notes steal particles of interior minds
and use them to write prose and compose music, creating interludes
in depths of meaningful moments of silence.
Sitting quietly, yet energetically in the midst of tranquil waters
of serenity throughout life, dipping minds carefully into these
shallow pools, cooling off in Phoenix under cool misters of air.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem