Racing quickly into and out of places in a mountainous desert where
this poet is totally alone, enjoying this lonesome empty place in
a life filled with siblings and friends.
Being the eldest, loving the privacy that the desert affords mind
and intellect, sorting through all types of thoughts, forming poems
rapidly one after another.
Pleasing an interior spiritual life, mind skipping up and down
mountainsides of a beautiful and serene desert without anybody
interrupting or disturbing this poet.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Love to see the poet submerged in the joy of loneliness of the desert, a joy that is intrinsic to production of high quality poems. Well done, Rose!