In inward conversation
Stagnant pools of dreams
Rummaging through thunder-
The lightning in between
The grating echoes whisper
Within the deep ravine
Wonder-less the mystery
In this vast extreme
Devote yourself to hardness
Endure, for who can say
If the rains will come again-
And wash the past away
I plunge into old dreams
I try philosophy
I’m met with indignation
The pools mirror the seas
Slowly I am drowning
Encircled by the stones
We forged to make a palace
We carved to build a home
But when the blossoms wilt
In the sultry sun
The smell of dying flowers-
No one can outrun
Left with rage it’s only
The last thing left to try
Dreams forsake the valleys
Stars deny the sky
Part your blistered lips
Speak so I can know-
What happened to the future
Where do intentions go?
Curtained by the mountains
Reverent to the old
There’s little left to build with
When the worlds been sold.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem