Haunted by necessity, an inner realm in other times is
forever mine.
An eternity of particular momentary glances, continues
to guide me throughout dark and cavernous corridors,
hiding and frightening images out into the open.
Meadows pass by, as grabbing, they slide past too
quickly.
Wanting to run, to jump, to falloff this circular trial
of performing arts.
Alas, only the quietness of my soul can change any
particle of itself alone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem