Displays of angles and lines, hiding within shadows of
evening, awaiting darkness so they can hide completely
out of sight.
Nothing in particular coming unbidden except through an
enticing and intense sense of ancient vibrations that
lie hidden deeply in catacombs of long ago.
Swerving and finding measures of rhythms as they totally
fall into categories of yesterday's memories, bringing
new depth to intellect's outreach.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem