Strumming slowly downward, touching chords laid back in postures of relaxation.
Timing being impeccable, precise beats falling down strings of beauty as a guitar is being played in solo depths of beautiful inner landscapes.
Painted by the melodies being played quietly in able pivoting rehearsal through the night.
Tired from the day, sitting back and strumming life away.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem