All that I want to say has already been said,
Not perhaps as I would choose to say,
But in words approximating to my notions.
Clouds far, far away in darker or brighter space
Are fusing and defusing, refusing to fit into
Categories, frames of reference we have made.
We too are clouds, conforming or deforming
Classes and typology, ethnic and cultish, analysed
By experts and forerunners, giving names
To morphing images which cannot survive,
Because they cannot hold on to constancy.
We are transiting labels, momently aware
Of what we thought we were.
Enough to have been a self-aware entity
A momentary molecule of mute identity.
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Please see the Note I have given at the end, with my hope for the New Year.