My philosophy is my design,
For he is a designer of pictures
That float in the rain and snow.
His deeds are his thoughts,
The philosopher is necessary
In this populace, in this city I call.
For the photons emitted strike him
In the eyes, easing the tongue
So that speech runs slowly,
So that reason has been ignited,
So that fighting with sound is gone.
My philosophy is my art,
And he is finding it wiser to attract
The crowds rather than dispute
The country of all its wishes and
Constraints.
In this walled city is a peaceful
Mausoleum so elegant and tall,
With minarets like spines,
And a dome of the heavenly brain.
The feeling of the philosophy is
Done by the minds of the philosophers.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Truly, a philosopher is a designer of an art that conveys peace and harmony. Loved reading the poem.