They wander throughout
mountains and valleys,
to find, meanings of Truth;
nothing found.
They travel out, yet again,
of thoughts and brains.
These are those meanings
that they found;
nothing found.
They write their experience
through words and poems.
These are those meanings
that they found;
nothing found.
In search of Truth;
we have to wander,
the push of birds that fly,
at will on the sky.
In search of Truth;
we have to write,
the lush thoughts of heart
which remain chaste.
In search of Truth;
we have to travel all
of our souls, so confused.
A never ending search: Truth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem