I'm on a stone in the center of a pond.
Ripples come. Ripples go.
Some days fast, others slow.
I have no where to go.
If I move I will get wet. In thus I will feel cold.
So the center is most calm.
If I move, the ripples stir. And everything is hectic.
So when I move I mess it up and freeze until I cry.
So I sit. In this stone. Till the day I die.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem