Riding a locomotive down imagination's tracks,
picking up images along the way, implanting
them into visions of livelihood.
Understanding coming into view, crystal clear
and beautiful.
Rooms full of creative forces, no room for
people caring only of themselves.
Forces of nature, building itself into pyres
of literature, outlasting, even memories of
old.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem