Picking up tones of a lifetime, as I walk down
little trodden pathways, left to be overgrown
with remainders of life and it's dying breaths.
Leaving patterns of death everywhere I look,
choosing to touch some of them, yet they all
turn into dust the moment I reach for them.
At a distance, seeing their one-of-a-kind
beauty, explicit delicacies reaching for my
mind.
Wonderful replicas of what life used to be and
hold closely in hearts filled with lovely
absurdities in bouquets.
Solidly being observed throughout days of untold
truths, being carried forth in harmonies through
melodious melodies of honesty.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem