Like an important paper hidden in a book,
a mind hides memories.
Love stirs without a reason, sadness fills
us with no rhyme.
Where do they hide and why come unbidden
to sprinkle our hearts with feelings?
Breathing deeply, sensing somehow what
feelings a mind hides between memories in
pages of it's own little book.
Sitting on a shelf, daring not to take it
down to look closely, because it may be a
page of history that you won't want to see.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem