Poems are buckets of words poured on unresponsive sheets of paper
Like fish the words find their rhythm within the sea of white paper
Effortlessly swimming together in synchronized verbosity
Gushing through the roof of the mind
Words find their form in the open skies of empty pages
Penetrating the depth of emotions in their search for shelter
Exposing the swollen wounds and the broken hearted
They match through lines and lines of unchartered waters
Possessed by their ability to find meaning in meaningless worlds
Words are magical clouds drifting towards a deserted heart
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem