Pounding ivories gently with an innate rhythm,
beating to it's own drummer as it marches on
newly-made pathways.
Keeping to itself, privatizing thoughts on
adjacent shores.
Soundlessly listening to waves of frothy foam
fold themselves upon the sand, ending on
sunsetical coastlines of the hereafter.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem