Why do you cry?
You have not yet seen your destiny,
not yet opened up your eyes
or spoken your first word,
for which you will most surely strive.
Your heart, as pure as virgin snow,
not tarnished, as it will,
when together through this world we go.
No regrets have you,
you have not yet lost any time to woe.
You are a blank page of delight
on which unknown visitors
will write;
do you fear,
the dark ink of their pens?
Write we must, it is ordained,
but with the gentlest,
lightest touch; (I hope, I pray)
that does not overfill that page
and then conceal,
the light which you do now reveal.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Loaded with life and impregnated with an innocence that is both factual and fragile. Well done my friend!