Rippled water touching imagination with
proliferation, subconsciously entertaining
self within abysses, waiting to be filled.
Silence beacons thoughtful stances, becoming
major works of art through literature.
Watching reflections wave back and across in
rhythm with the wind blowing across the face
of this earth.
Wordlessly carrying breaths of fresh air
wherever it goes, freedom of being is it's
fare in life.
Wandering rhythmically with sounds foreign
and domestic, drawing in a universe and space
of people.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem