I stand here, whole in my imperfections,
no yearning for what could have been.
The world turns, restless in its demands,
but Iam still, rooted in my enough.
The mirror shows no rival,
only a friend I've grown to trust.
Every line, every scar, a story told,
a map of becoming, not of loss.
I do not chase the horizon,
nor grasp at stars beyond my reach.
The sky above, the ground below---
these are the treasures I need not seek.
Here, in the quiet of my being,
I carry no hunger for more.
Iam the wealth I've always had,
content in the depth of my core.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem