Being placed in regions of innocent pleasure, taking
in everything being sensed from without, feeling
textures and senses of pictures, forming incessantly
on screens of intellect.
Feeling motions of rhythms, creating passion, as it
comes to a crescendo, playing itself so perfectly
in pitch, never missing a beat, with somnolent heart-
ache creating musical compositions within the sensuous
beating of drums.
Playing forthrightly without stopping, taking turns
in revolving rhythms, placating minds as it soothes
the soul.
Creating and seeing sights through intellect's
insight, always open to an entertaining mode of
composing musical interludes, watching temptations
calling interiorly.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem