it continues
as a flow of
what you think
you like
as true and
beautiful
you are lost
in the rage of
the waters
you take a hold
of another drifting
wood, very much
like you
letting things go
the rage in charge
and whatever happens
you say it is
just as it is
when the rage stops
when calm reigns again
you get hold of your mind
saying: it is not, it is not
it is perhaps like it
but definitely it is
not, and you
are in your senses again
throwing the one that looks like it
taking hold of what is real
and then denying yourself
of its beauty once again
sorrow plays the flute
in your silence
the hands open
accepts what is there
and letting it go again
it is not meant for you
you have something else
just as it is.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem