the new moon sighted,
the sun feels slighted,
the night 's reign's wanes,
as the morning calls its subjects,
to the deep lies the waiting,
just as the heart discover its verve,
our hearts beat in synchronicity,
pulses rhyme in continuity,
like music in its purity, motion of poetry,
let the hummingbird flew,
to where the recesses of the soul it re-lives
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem