The mind builds rooms where echoes never sleep,
Each thought a footstep pacing back and forth;
Smiles guard the doors where private sorrows keep,
And silence learns the language of their worth.
Hope flickers thin within the crowded head,
A fragile light that fear cannot erase;
From wounds unseen, the self is slowly bred—
We heal by naming pain, and giving grace.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem