For mystics, there are no borders; only
A vast expanse of stars in the night skies.
For poets, there is no fixed reality;
Only dreams glittering in the moonlight.
For painters, vibrant forms and colours merge,
Like flesh, blood and bone in the birthing room.
They all undergo a creative surge;
From which a thousand blazing flowers bloom.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Absolutely true, dear Dominic and the reverse either. Thanks for sharing