New beauty is now
Growing into strangest forms;
Yet not without its
Various imperfections.
And curiously,
It seems that dissonance is
More apt, in strained times,
Than harmonious structures.
Blue and black collide
On my emerging canvas.
Little dots of stars
Punctuate wild emptiness.
Poetry greets art
Like old friends reconnected.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem