A clear mind and a level head leave little room for solace
In the mind of an artist whose brush has not touched canvas,
The smooth caress of a Love no one can understand,
In over a fortnight.
Cleaver pearls of thought are not bred from good wishes
And strings of dreams are not purged from euphoric peace.
My mind’s eye craves havoc
A thirst in years past quenched so illitiously
From my mere being.
Are we to believe that Serenity is our own making, undoing, and bore?
Encaged by a mind at ease-
My Heart takes flight where my imagination dares not dream of....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem