There is this burning energy
Locked within my pores,
Pulsing always, never sleeping
Regardless if my mind abhors.
There is this subtle dignity
In life’s refusal to submit,
For even when I sleep and dream
My body does never remit
In its ceaseless, waking, pumping,
Not unlike the tides and rivers,
Guilded perfectly in nature;
Nourishing the spheres of givers.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem