I enjoy the hot tub
After my treadmill.
Whilst sitting,
Throne-like,
One notices the thousands of bubbles,
Swirling, twirling, spinning, colliding,
Spreading out like spiralling gallaxies.
Naturally, I play with them,
Briefly and temporarily
Re-direct their form and orbit;
But it's pointless.
Probably the same problem
God has with his universe,
After removing his hand.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem