like the colored sands of the
Buddhist monks of Mandala
the facts of our lives
that took
us years and years
to establish
after a very careful tapestry
of our own artistic instincts,
soon shall be
gone, mixed, castles and temples
turning into
sand dunes inside our hands
and we swim to the river of time
and there let
all the sands spill back to the water
that does not just flow
but run & run
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem