krisnamurti by his own wisdom
of non-knowing
just like the old and dead
Socrates
does not write a book,
wisdom is merely spoken
relayed from mind to mind
mouth to mouth
moment to moment
the past has no hold
it does not exist
the future has no fingers
it is yet to come
it is the now that speaks
that holds that shows its face
take it with gladness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem